


Hyogo Holiday

by Crollalanza



Series: The AtsuHina Royalty/Journalist AU series [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Journalist Atsumu, M/M, Other characters may be added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Angry because his editor has taken him off a political scandal and put him on a boring Royal story following the Sunshine Prince Shouyou's tour, investigative reporter, Miya Atsumu, is even more pissed to see someone has fallen asleep on his motor bike. He should leave him where he is, but something about him leads Atsumu to offer the incapacitated stray a beanbag in his apartment for the night.It's only the following morning he discovers the true identity of his guest.And now he could have the story of the century - as long as he can stay one step ahead of the police, security guards and the ever wily, twisty hack Suna Rintarou.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: The AtsuHina Royalty/Journalist AU series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190399
Comments: 122
Kudos: 477
Collections: best fanfictions my eyes have seen yeah





	1. The Non-Story

**Author's Note:**

> This has been written for AtsuHina Week - the prompt I'm using is Royalty AU. 
> 
> Any resemblance to the film Roman Holiday is purely co-inci- No, it's not. I stole the idea from the 1953 film with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck.

There were three things pissing Miya Atsumu off right at that moment.

  * He’d been assigned the worst—absolute worst—non-story to follow.
  * His brother’s café was closed so he couldn’t blag a free meal.
  * Someone was sitting on his motorbike.



(Well, it was more that the person was slumped, not sitting, their arms dangling across the handlebars and face pressing into the seat.)

It was midnight, Atsumu had walked out of the bar having drunk coke all night while he plied a possible security source with vodka and was now desperate to get back to his apartment, get some shut eye before the most boringest (was that a word—ah, well, poetic and journalistic licence) press conference which he’d been told to attend on pain of death (or rather termination of employment) by Kita-san, his editor.

“I’m a frickin’ investigative reporter, so why are you putting me on this shit?”

“You need to learn some basic humanity and respect,” Aran-san, Kita’s deputy had roared. “That last story – we had to pull it, or we’d have been sued out of existence!”

“Not a word of it was untrue!” he yelled back.

Kita stepped in, his voice quiet but shimmering with authority. “You failed to provide enough proof. And your source…”

“Can’t be revealed!”

“And I’m not suggesting you need to betray them, but without proof, we cannot run the story,” Kita said briskly. “So, take this assignment, write something ‘sweet’ and ‘uplifting’ about our ‘Sunshine’ Prince Shouyou’s tour for our readers, and above all … recharge, Atsumu-kun.”

He couldn’t exactly argue with that, and at least he’d not been fired, but it didn’t mean he had to be happy with being handed this story.

“Who’s dealing with the politician?” he mumbled. “It is being followed up, right?”

“Suna is,” Aran said, keeping his voice level. (Atsumu just _knew_ he was pleased.)

“THAT TWISTY HACK!”

“He has a different way of looking at things and a fresh angle is what we need,” Kita replied. He returned to his keyboard, exiting a screen then without looking up continued, “You’ll be paid expenses, Atsumu, so please ensure you fill out the usual forms. And you’ll need a smart suit for official functions.”

He groaned, but only to himself, and stormed out of the room.

He ‘borrowed’ a suit from Osamu then sat at home looking for any possible new leads on the politician bribery scandal he’d been taken off, before grudgingly pulling out a file of clippings Ren-san had given him.

“Boring.”

“Yawn.”

“Dull.”

He muttered as he flipped through each story. But then that was the trouble with these cutesy articles. He wasn’t supposed to write anything remotely interesting just ‘heart-warming’.

A message flashed onto his home screen; the photographer he’d been assigned asking what time they should meet.

**< <Ten, I guess>>**

_**< <It starts at ten>>** _

**< <It’s some dumb official photos and stupid preplanned questions, what more time do we actually need?>>**

_**< <I’ll be there at 9>>** _

**< <You do that.>>**

_**< <Protocol, ‘Tsumu.>>** _

**< <Save me a place in the line up, Gin, I’ll be there when I’m there.>>**

Then he’d gone out for a walk, winding up in a bar and staying there when an off-duty cop let slip that he was on the Prince’s security detail.

“Not that we expect any trouble, but you can’t be too careful.”

“No, no, you can’t,” Atsumu had murmured. His interest sparked, he bought them both vodka and cokes—except his lacked the vodka. “Is he likely to do something …um … careless?”

The cop yawned. “I doubt it. He’s well liked and won’t put a foot wrong, but it is his first solo tour, so we have to be on our toes, just in case.”

“And he’s been abroad, hasn’t he?”

“Mmm, college or something. Kept fairly private too. Didn’t go off the rails.”

_Boring._

“Maybe he’ll rebel?” Atsumu asked hopefully.

“He wouldn’t get the chance. He might not be with his parents, but he’s still got chaperones and two tough-as-shit bodyguards.”

“Ah, the Crow Guard. Yes, I’ve heard of them.”

“You’ve heard of a lot,” the cop said, his eyes narrowing.

“Just the stuff I’ve read,” Atsumu replied, fixing a bland smile on his face. “Want another drink?”

“Hey!” He toe-poked the bike-crasher.

“Hmm?” the sleeper started to say, then snuffled and snored.

“Wake up!”

“Where’s my tea?”

“What?”

“Why haven’t you drawn the curtains? It’s still … so … dark.”

With a grimace, Atsumu leant very close, unpeeled the hood a little, realised he had a male crasher and not female so had no compunction in leaning close to his ear. “GET OFF MY BIKE!”

“Hmm?” Snuffling, the young man shifted position, then peered blearily through one eye.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“You ain’t in your bedroom, you dumb jerk. You’re outside, sleeping on my bike. And I’d now like to use it to get home, so if you don’t mind…”

“Bike? Don’t be silly. I don’t have a bi—” His mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. “I did see a bike earlier and …” He trailed off, yawning. “I’ve never sat on a bike … so … thought … I would … and then … so sleepy.” Hiccupping, he nestled back on the bike.

Atsumu sniffed. “And you’ve had a skinful by the sound and smell of you. Now shift, your arse and get off my bike.”

“Um sure.” He agreed, moved a little, then slid to the ground. “Ow.”

“Serves you right.”

“That’s not a very kind thing to say.”

“I ain’t a very kind person. I’m especially not kind when it’s midnight and I want to get home!”

“Ah… that would be nice. I should … think … about …” Slumping to the side, he curled up. “Sleep first.”

“Jerk.”

“No pillow.”

“You’re on the ground. Get up.”

“Don’t wanna.” A small giggle escaped from the man’s lips. “I can’t remember my address.”

“Then how are you going to get home.”

“Aeroplane.” He closed his eyes again, and snuggled into his fleece. “Don’t worry about me, someone will find me soon. They always do.”

The trouble was that in this place it could be the very wrong sort of someone and much as Atsumu was pissed as hell to be inconvenienced, he could no more leave the kid in the street and in this state than he could agree Suna Rintarou was the better journalist.

There were just some things you didn’t do!

“Kid, I can give you a lift somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Uh… the police, maybe. They deal with missing persons all the time.”

“Noo … nooo … nooo. I’m not missing, I’m here!” Getting rather unsteadily to his feet, he gave Atsumu a grin ( _wow, he’s sort of cute_ ) then wobbled away.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?”

“I’ll find…somewhere,” he replied, then stepped on an uneven paving stone and staggered.

Atsumu hurried forwards, grabbing him before he face planted into the road. “Look, kid, you’re in no fit state, so if you won’t go to the police, and you can’t get back home, then maybe you should sleep this off. You can come back to mine.”

“That is extraordinarily kind of you,” he replied and slumped into Atsumu’s shoulder. “As long as you’re not a kidnapper.”

“No, I’m not one of them.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to hurt you.”

“Pardon? You hurt me? I’m twice your size, Shrimpo!”

“I know Karate.”

“Then I’ll make sure to stay away,” Atsumu said gravely as he shifted the weight of the young man in his arms and walked him to the bike.

“Put this on,” he muttered, handing him the spare helmet.

“Uhm…It doesn’t fit. I can’t… get it over my head.”

“The strap’s caught up in your hood, that’s all.” Sighing, Atsumu pulled the hood off and then pushed the helmet onto his head.

“What’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Miya,” he replied. “And you?”

“Uh … I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

“Okay, then Yamaguchi, get on the bike behind me and hold on tight, okay?”

He’d meant to hold the grab rails, but when his passenger wrapped his arms around Atsumu’s waist with no hint of hesitation, he didn’t tell him otherwise, but opened up the throttle and sped off.

Knowing the roads well, and as there was very little traffic, Atsumu tore his way across the city and to his home. It was only as he slowed into his road, that he wondered if he should have taken it easier on his passenger, especially as he’d appeared to be drunk, but the kid had clung on tighter and at one point Atsumu could have sworn he heard him laugh.

He tottered off the bike, helmet still on, and almost crashed into the flickering lamppost, which obviously taking offense finally gave up the ghost and flicked off.

“Inside, Yama… er … what was your name, again?”

“Yamaguchi!” he declared, and tried to pull the helmet off. “It’s stuck.”

Trying and failing to muffle a snort, Atsumu helped him off with the helmet, noticing his hair had already rebelled against the compression and was sticking up all ways. “You still had the strap done up,” he replied. “Wait there while I lockup the bike, okay?”

Atsumu’s apartment was on the first floor. Letting himself in, he flicked the hallway switch, grimacing when nothing happened. Perhaps the whole street was out, which would explain the lamppost. So using the torch on his phone and grabbing hold of Yamaguchi’s arm, he navigated their way forwards until he got to his front door.

The lights weren’t working in his apartment either.

“Uh… sorry ‘bout this,” he told his guest, and walked him over to his slouchy beanbag chair. “You try and get comfortable and I’ll find you a blanket. I’d make you a coffee but the electricity’s out again.”

“I’m fine. This is most extraordinarily kind of you,” he replied through a series of yawns. “I will sleep now.”

“Do … you … um … remember your address? Or is there anyone you want to call.”

“No and no.” His silhouette showed he was tilting his head to the side. “I don’t have a phone. I left it behind.”

“In the bar you went to? Only we could call them if you want.”

“No, it was deliberate.”

“Right…” Shaking his head, Atsumu opened a drawer and pulled out a blanket. “Bathroom’s over there, if you need it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I’m gonna.” He chucked the blanket and a shirt at him. “I’ll … uh … leave you to it.”

He gave Yamaguchi as long as he possibly could to get ready for bed, taking his time with cleaning his teeth, emptying his cola-filled bladder and splashing his face with water. Already he was regretting chatting up the cop whose information hadn’t been remotely useful, knowing it would have been better to finish ploughing through the articles Oomimi had handed him so he could get to know the Prince a little better and maybe find something remotely interesting to write. There was little point starting now, he’d get up early and finish them. Or he could just not bother, attend the official function and make up some schmaltzy shit.

The moon had appeared, glimmering through the blind when he emerged. Hearing some soft snores, Atsumu crept to the window to close the blind then flopped onto his bed.

A hand whacked him in the face.

“Hey!” He rubbed his nose. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“Sleeping.”

“No, no, you sleep on the beanbag. I need my bed!”

“But I don’t _want_ to move.”

“Too bad. This ain’t some shitty tale where we’re stuck in a hotel together with only one bed. You, Shrimpo, are sleeping on the beanbag.” Hoisting him into his arms, he not very gently dumped him on the beanbag, mollifying his guest’s protests with the addition of a blanket. “Now, go to sleep.”

He was already snoring.

But Atsumu, having had his initial flop down disturbed, found it harder to drop off, and stared up at the ceiling.

_Goddammit,_ he thought. _I got work tomorrow and I need to make sure I get rid of Shrimpo. Why the heck did I bring him back to mine?_

It was just as he was dropping off, the caffeine from the coke having left his system and stopped him fidgeting, that he heard a sudden, loud voice. And one word.

“TANAKA!”

“What?”

Yamaguchi had sat up on the beanbag.

“SHHHHH!” he ordered.

“Hey, I ain’t the one shoutin’!” Atsumu complained. “Who’s Tanaka? D’you need me to call him?”

“Noooooooooo,” came the reply, hushed now as he curled back on the beanbag and pulled the blanket over his head. “I’m hiding. Don’t tell him where I am.”

Oh, gahhd, he was havin’ trippy dreams now. “Right, fine. How about stayin’ very, _very_ quiet so he doesn’t find you?”

“Nishinoya, too?”

“Who?”

“He mustn’t find me either.”

“Then he won’t. Now, shut up!” Atsumu snarled.

A few minutes later, he heard snuffles and snores again. Grinding his teeth, Atsumu clamped a pillow over his head and prayed for sleep … or death.

It was a dreamless, short sleep he had, and he woke far too early, but curiously refreshed. As the sun peeked through the window, he caught sight of a breathing mound on the beanbag, and wondered about waking him up.

It was only six thirty, and maybe it would be mean however much he’d disrupted Atsumu’s night, so instead he levered himself out of bed, padded across to his table-cum-desk and flipped through the newspaper clippings one more time.

Prince Shouyou, he knew, was twenty-one years old. A year younger than Atsumu, so there should have been some communality between them, except that the Prince’s world was far out of Atsumu’s orbit. Educated privately and also abroad, he’d not been seen in public for a few years, following a deal with the Royal Family and the Press to leave him alone until he came of age and began his royal duties. All the stories Atsumu read were largely anecdotal—a liking for Tamaga Gohan, manga and small dogs—information designed to show him as a normal and therefore boring man. Not one to whom scandal would attach himself.

_This is going to be the dreariest week in existence_.

At the bottom of the pile of clippings was the most recent story from a month before, which was an article about him returning home from Brazil. The accompanying picture was blurry, largely due to one of the Prince’s bodyguards shoving his face up close to the camera. Flinching a little at the gurning guard, Atsumu’s attention flickered to the caption

‘Prince Shouyou returns!’ (Also pictured Tanaka Ryuunosuke of the Crow Guard.)

Tanaka … Atsumu frowned remembering Yamaguchi’s utterance in the night. But Tanaka was a common enough name, so he dismissed it from his mind and continued reading the story.

The reporter, to give her her due, had managed to get a quote from the Prince.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do now you’ve returned, Prince Shouyou?”

“Greet my family,” he’d replied.

_So dutiful, so boring._

“And catch up with best friend, Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

Atsumu rubbed his eyes. _Yama-what-now?_ Yeah, he’d read it right: Yamaguchi Tadashi.

Okay, so that was a common name too, but _two_ common names from the same person. This was one screwy coincidence.

Right then, the beanbag moved, the blanket slipping away as his houseguest pulled it off his face.

Atsumu’s face softened into a dopey grin seeing a shock of orangey-red hair. _Aww, he’s kinda—_

_Red hair._

Jeez, was there any way he could get hold of a more recent photo? His search proved fruitless, the only recent photographs available showed a young man with a baseball hat pulled firmly down, casting his face in shadow, or flanked by the Crow Guard.

Oh-kay… lets think about this laterally. He typed in the name Yamaguchi Tadashi to see what that would yield.

A common name as he’d thought, but the top hit showed a tall man, with a passive sort of face and floppy hair. His dad was counsellor for the King and his son was the same age as the Prince. They’d been educated together. He peered closer at the photograph. Dark hair. Not red.

_I don’t know who you are, Shrimpo, but you ain’t this guy._

On the floor by his bed, there was a pair of jeans ‘Yamaguchi’ had taken off last night. Picking them up, Atsumu checked the pockets, but there was no ID, just a few yen and some foreign notes. _Brazilian notes,_ Atsumu surmised. He folded up the trousers, noting from the label that they were a designer pair and not a knock off from a street stall.

Fumbling for his phone, he sent a message to Oomimi Ren, the feature’s editor. **< <Do we have an up to date photo of the Prince?>>**

His phone vibrated about ten minutes later.

**_< < You have everything I have. Why?>>_ **

**< <Just wondered. These pictures are years old or blurred. Would hate to not recognise him.>>**

**_< <He has orange hair and will be wearing a fricking crown. I hardly think you’re likely to mix him up with any old commoner. You’re up disgustingly early, by the way.>>_ **

**< <Trying to think of a new angle. So any leads as to where I can get a recent pic?>>**

**_< <There’s a portrait released yesterday to commemorate the tour>>_ **

**< <That it?>>**

**_< <Yup>> _ **

He sent a link. Atsumu clicked and studied closely. Prince Shouyou was in ceremonial robes, staring out at the painter as if surveying his kingdom. There was a solemnity to his expression but the artist had managed to capture a twinkle in the eyes and a small lilt at the corners of his mouth. His hair was flame-red (Atsumu peeped at his guest ‘yep’) and although there’d been a clear attempt to smooth the unruly curls in the portrait, it was clear that took effort. The sort of effort ‘Yamaguchi’ would have to make to look vaguely respectable when he woke up.

From where he was sitting and in the grey morning light, there was at least a passing resemblance to his guest and the man in the portrait, but it wasn’t quite enough.

Of course if this really were Prince Shouyou in his apartment, then wouldn’t the whole country be in uproar looking for him? Clicking on a news site, he scanned the page, but there was nothing about him save for news of the portrait and his arrival in Hyogo. He watched the video clip of the Prince returning from Brazil again, saw Tanaka even more menacing in motion and beside him a shorter guy but no less intimidating, with a blond streak in his hair gelled into a quiff. In the video, he was calmly removing a camera from one of the press guys.

_One of our press guys! YES!_

He grinned and reached for his phone again. **< <Hey, Gin-kun, that guy who broke your camera from the Crow Guard. What was his name?>>**

**_< <You’re up early>>_ **

Why did everyone say that?

**< <Yup. The name?>>**

**_< <Nishinoya. He didn’t break the camera, just deleted all my pics.>>_ **

Nishinoya … the third name.

Atsumu grinned. _Gotcha!_

**_< <Why did you want to know?>>_ **

He took a breath, mulling over a few things in his mind. What he was going to do wasn’t quite clear yet, but there was a story here. A story that could make him, or break him by landing him in jail.

What’s the worst that could happen?

_You get done for kidnapping_ – a voice, which sounded remarkably like Aran-san, roared in his head.

_I need a witness … someone I can trust… someone who won’t blab, least of all to Suna Rintarou …_ He grimaced. _So that’s ‘Samu out._

Ginjima Hitoshi, however, was as eager to prove his credentials as Atsumu. Pissed off he’d been assigned the spot a celeb airport detail, he’d be thirsty as hell for a proper scoop.

**< <Come over to my apartment, ‘Toshi, and I’ll tell you everything>>**


	2. Breakfast at 'Tsumu's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right, how about a nice day out for Prince Shouyou. He can be himself, you take cutesy pictures.”  
> “Really?”  
> “And … if he happens to slip up and do something scandalous… well …”  
> “You gonna lead him astray?”  
> “More than my life’s worth,” Atsumu muttered, thinking of Kita-san’s scruples and Aran kicking his butt. “But it has to be better than a week of following him performing official engagements.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... he has an escaped Prince on his hands. Just what will Atsumu do?

Ginjima had said he’d be over as soon as he could, but it wasn’t as quick as Atsumu would have liked because no sooner had he stopped sending a message, his houseguest yawned and stretched, his nose scrunching up as he did.

“Where am I?”

“In your enchanted castle,” Atsumu replied.

“Uh …WHAAAAT!”

“Oh, sorry, you sounded like Disney princess for a moment,” Atsumu teased, watching as a faint blush and confusion spread across his face. “Do you remember much about last night?”

“Uh…” His eyes flickered from side to side. “I was … um… taking a walk and got lost.”

“Oh… I see.”

His eyes were now gazing up at the ceiling. “Am I in a store room?”

Atsumu glared at him. “This is my apartment.”

“Oh …” The word dropped like a stone in a smooth pond, faint ripples finally reaching the thrower’s perception. “I fell asleep on a motorbike.” His eyes narrowed. “Your motorbike. And you are Miya, who very _kindly_ offered me a place to stay.”

“I did indeed. I’m impressed your memory’s intact after the amount you drank.”

“Drank? I only had half a glass.”

He hooted. “Good luck with that. You stank of it.”

“Ah… yes, some got spilt when I was esc… uh … in a bar.”

“I didn’t quite catch your name,” Atsumu murmured. “What was it again?”

“Sho…um…Tsukish-”

“Last night I could have sworn you said Yamaguchi.”

He held Atsumu’s eyes, not flickering in the slightest. “You must have heard wrong.”

_Oh, you’re brave._

“What’s in a name?” Atsumu brazened. “Think I’ll call ya Shrimpo – that okay?”

The slight frost in his hauteur gave way to a grin. “Uh …yes, why not?”

“You’re not from around here, I’m guessing?” he asked casually.

“No, I’ve been abroad. Think I’m still a bit jetlagged, which is possibly why I fell asleep on your motorbike.”

“And have you remembered your address yet?”

“Hmm, sort of, but I don’t need to go back yet.” He got up, started to pace the room and peeked through the blind slats. “What’s that over there?”

“Municipal park,” Atsumu replied, joining him.

He had a smudge of dirt on his chin, and the tee shirt was a little too big, slipping to the side to reveal a small scar. Atsumu blinked and looked away hurriedly. _Must be ‘cuz I’m so observant._

“And there?” he asked, pointing to the one street already busy.

“Street market. They’re settin’ up.”

“You must take me.”

“Must I?” Atsumu raised his eyebrows. “Is that a command?”

He flinched. “Oh… um … no, no, not at all. Would you show me it?”

“Ah, well, I do have work today.”

“Work? Oh, yes, of course you do. What do you do?”

“Freelance … uh … graphic design,” Atsumu replied and waved his hand at his computer. He pretended to think. “Hmm, I guess it would only be right that I show a guest around, so I could take some time off. A friend of mine is coming over, though. Do you mind if he tags along?”

“Of course not. What does he do?”

“Gin’s … uh … well he’s sort of…” Wildly looking around the room hoping inspiration would strike, his eyes flitted to a wilting pot plant. “Gardener.”

“Sort of a gardener?”

“Horticulturist,” Atsumu affirmed. “So he doesn’t do the actual gardening but designs them. On the computer. A bit like me. Except I don’t design gardens.”

(He hoped he sounded smooth. Maybe he could get away with this.)

“Oh, very interesting. What do you design?”

(Or maybe not. Distract him.)

“Graphics.” Atsumu coughed. “Would you like a coffee or tea? The electricity’s back on now.”

“That would be good. I’d also like to … um …” He backstepped away and gestured to the bathroom.

“Oh, sure. Yeah.”

“I’ll need clean clothes.”

_Imperious little shit_ , Atsumu thought, grinning because the grimy oik in front of him clearly had no idea what he looked like. “Think mine’ll be too big for ya, Shrimpo, but I can sort something out. Any particular style?”

“Um … something normal. Casual. And maybe a hat and some sunglasses.”

“’K, leave it with me.”

Once alone, Atsumu got on his phone again, messaging Gin.

**< <Quick detour. I need you to pick up some clothes. Shorts and tee shirt, underpants. Anything casual>>**

_< <???>>_

**< <Small man size>> **

Actually he did have pretty muscular arms and a broad back.

**< <Uh, maybe make the top medium>>**

**_< <WTF are you on about?>>_ **

**< <Clothes, I need them.>>**

**_< <Why?>>_ **

**< <So many questions. I’ll explain when you get here. Also, you are not allowed to go with your first reaction which will be shock and reaching for your camera.>>**

**_< <Uh… okay>>_ **

**< <In fact do you have a secret camera, rather than your phone? Or is that the sort of thing we only see in movies?>>**

**_< <You’re scaring me>>_ **

**< <Do you?>>**

**_< <As it happens, yes I do. But don’t tell Kita-san as it’s not exactly legit>>_ **

**< <Nor’s this story>>**

**_< <Which is?>>_ **

**< <You’ll see. Get the clothes, right?>>**

**_< <At this time of the morning?>>_ **

**< <I knew I could rely on you!>>**

**_< <MIYA NOTHING IS OPEN!>>_ **

Chuckling, he refused to answer anymore, knowing Ginjima would do as he asked. He was resourceful in a way, reckless too, and although Atsumu didn’t think he’d break into a store to buy clothes, he might find a vendor willing to open up for some extra cash.

“Was that tea or coffee you wanted, Shrimpo?” he called out.

“Tea, please. I’m going to have a shower. Do you have a bathrobe?”

_Only a really manky one in my laundry basket._ And while that might be fun seeing what the Sunshine Prince thought of it, he wanted to keep on his good side at least for a while.

“Sorry, no. There are some big towels if you want to wrap yourself in one.”

“Thank you.”

“And my friend’s gonna find you some clothes.”

“I suppose that will be all right.”

“It’ll have to be or else you’ll be Shrimpo Stinky-chan in your revolting, smelly shirt and jeans.”

Highly amused at the way ‘Shrimpo’ was struggling to deal with banter rather than the reverence he must be used to, Atsumu turned away and busied himself with the kettle. He wondered if he’d be yelled at, or ordered about with a stamp of a foot and a hissy fit. But as he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw he was being watched, and on being discovered, the Prince gave him a small smile.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You’re already putting yourself out for me when you have no reason to. You must be a very _kind_ person, Miya-san.”

Now on the back foot because the words had momentarily halted his perception of the arrogant lordling in front of him (and the smile had fleetingly sucked his breath away), Atsumu spluttered, “Call me Atsumu, will ya. Everyone does.”

“Really? Even on such short acquaintance?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a brother. A twin actually, so no one calls either of us Miya. Too darn confusing, I guess.”

“A twin brother? That must be great. Never lonely, always someone to play with when you were children.”

“In our case it was always someone to fight with,” Atsumu muttered. He cast his mind to the Prince’s background – there was a sister, Princess Natsu. “You have brothers or sisters?”

“A sister. I should shower.”

_Ohhh, is there a story there?_

“Yeah, take all the time you want.”

The loud rap at the door disturbed his thoughts, and as he went to answer it, Atsumu heard the shower turn off, a faint sing-song voice, and knew he had to get to Gin before the Prince surprised him.

Ginjima scowled as he held out a plastic bag. “Gonna tell me what this is about?”

“Yes, sure. But you have to promise not to overreact.”

“Hey, I’m cool as a cucumber.” He shoved the bag at Atsumu. “This cost me a fucking fortune.”

“Really?” He opened the bag, spied a pair of orange and green shorts and a yellow top with a graphic on the front and snorted. “Looks cheap to me.”

“I had to bribe one of the street stalls to open up before they were meant to.”

“Claim it on expenses.”

“This _is_ connected to a story, then?”

“Ohhh yes.” He listened out for signs the Prince was emerging, then whispered, “I picked up a waif and stray last night.”

“I don’t want to know about your love life!”

“No, no, not like that!” Scowling, he grabbed Ginjima’s arm. “I thought a drunken kid had crashed out on my bike and I couldn’t leave him in the street, so I brought him back here, gave him a place to stay. He was spinnin’ me this stuff about not remembering his address, and gave me a fake name, and…”

“Report him to the police then! He could be a criminal.”

“No, he’s not. Look, I don’t know why I believed he was harmless, but I let him stay over.”

“Because he’s cute?” Ginjima said wryly.

“Well, kinda— NO that ain’t the reason – I couldn’t see him properly last night for one thing. Anyway, he slept on the beanbag and in the night started rambling about this guy called Tanaka.”

“So … it’s a pretty common name.”

“And someone called …” He licked his lips, and let one eyebrow arch.

“Quit with the fake anticipation,” Ginjima growled.

“Nishinoya.”

“Nishinoya? Weren’t you asking me about him earlier? Isn’t he the …” He made the connection. His eyes widening. “What are you telling me, Atsumu?”

“He has red hair. Like flame red. And he’s already admitted the name he gave me was fake.”

“And you’re telling me Prince Shouyou is sitting on your beanbag, right now.”

“No. Right now, he’s in my bathroom.”

“Jee-zus! Are you sure?”

“Pretty damn sure. It’s him. Now, will he recognise you from the airport?”

Screwing up his face, Ginjima considered. “Doubt it. I was quite far away and wearing a hat. But look, I’ve got these, and I’ll put them on.” He fished into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses.

“Great disguise. They ain’t even shades!”

“All I’ve got right now, and multi-purpose,” he said and put them on, his index finger fiddling with the right hand side. “Smile, Tsum-Tsum.”

“What?”

“These are my spy camera.”

“Oh. Ooohhhhh – cool!”

The bathroom door slid open. “Atsumu? Where are you?”

“Jus’ talkin’ to Ginjima, that’s my friend. He’s here with some clothes for ya.”

“Wonderful.” He appeared from the bathroom, swathed from his armpits to his ankles in Atsumu’s green bath towel. Although his hair was damp and darker, there was no mistaking its redness. Beside him, Atsumu heard Ginjima’s muffled gasp, and his immediate reaction was to snap a photo with his glasses.

“Play it cool,” Atsumu muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“How can I?”

“What was that?” the Prince asked, now drying his hair with a smaller towel.

“He’s disgusted at the condition of my pot plant,” Atsumu lied.

“Am I?”

“Go along with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, what have you done to it?”

“Oh, yes, you’re a horticulturist, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes I am. Hum, now Atsumu’s obviously told you about me, but … um … who are you?”

“Atsumu has decided I’m Shrimpo,” he replied, and grinned. “Are those clothes for me?”

“Yeah, they’re quite bright,” Atsumu replied handing over the bag.

“Absolutely no problem,” he said, accepting them. “Back in a bit. And then I will have my tea and breakfast. Um … if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” Atsumu smiled and dampened down the feeling of wanting to simultaneously slap and hug the guy, recognising that while Prince Shouyou was used to the world served on a silver platter at a whim, he was also hurriedly correcting himself.

“You do know that they must have the police and fuck knows how many secret service hoods looking for him,” Gin muttered, once the Prince had nipped back into the bathroom.

“There’s nothin’ on the news about it,” Atsumu replied. “But you agree, right, that’s definitely him?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s even got the scar.”

“What scar?”

“On his shoulder. Fell out of a tree when he was fourteen, or something. I thought you prided yourself on doing research?”

“I haven’t got that far yet!”

“There’s a rumour his parents had all the lower branches of every tree in the palace gardens lopped off to stop him climbing again.”

“How do you know all of this?” Atsumu asked, amazed. “You’re a photographer, not a reporter!”

“Look, I may just be a lowly photographer to you, Miya, but when I was assigned the dumbass airport detail, I was bored out of my skull, so got chattin’ to some of the other photographers, and did some background reading. He likes cats, too, had one as a kid, so I called out its name in the hope he’d turn round.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Didn’t get the chance. Tanaka steered him away and Nishinoya grabbed my camera. They’re protective as fuck, those guys.”

“Not last night. They lost him,” Atsumu replied.

“But I bet they’ll be out hunting for him now.”

“Then we need to stay one step ahead. Tho’ I’m thinkin’ that ‘cuz there’s nothin’ on the news, maybe they don’t know about it yet? Like he coulda snuck out and they ain’t realised yet.”

“They will soon.”

“We’ll cross that particular bridge when it happens, okay?”

Gin nodded. “So, what’s the plan?”

Now he knew he had Gin fully on board, Atsumu chuckled. “Right, well, how about a nice day out for Prince Shouyou. He can be himself, we take cutesy pictures.”

“Really?”

“And … if he happens to slip up and do something scandalous… well …”

“You gonna lead him astray?”

“More than my life’s worth,” Atsumu muttered, thinking of Kita-san’s scruples and Aran kicking his butt. “But it has to be better than a week of following him performing official engagements.”

“True.”

They were debating turning up to the press conference because to be absent would cast suspicion when Kita’s text came through.

**_< <Press conference cancelled. The Prince is ill … apparently. Take the day off>>_ **

His fingers trembled as he typed and he hoped Kita couldn’t sense it. **< <You sure, boss?>>**

**_< <Very. You need to recharge. You’ve become jaded recently which is why I put you on this.>>_ **

_What the hell did that mean?_

**< <OK>>**

**_< <So little resistance – I’m amazed.>>_ **

**< <You’re right. I’m tired.>> **He started yawning, as if to convince Kita even if he couldn’t see him.

**_< <I’m glad you finally realise that. Ginjima tells me he’s with you.>>_ **

**< <Yeah, we were gonna make an early start>>**

**_< <Glad you’re collaborating with someone, at last.>>_ **

_Huh!_

Ginjima was also checking his phone. “They’ve found out, then,” he muttered.

“Yeah. Game on!”

The door slid open, and a bedecked in yellow, orange and green with more than a passing resemblance to a fruit bowl, emerged from the bathroom.

“Ha! This is wonderful!” Prince Shouyou said, twirling in front of them.

“A PIPLUP SHIRT!” Atsumu torn between laughter and what a great picture this would make, weakly fistbumped Gin. “You did good, my dude.”

“No hat and glasses though. Can we buy some? It’s going to be sunny so I don’t want to burn.”

It was warm, but cloudy, and the forecast was saying nothing different but Atsumu let that slide. “I c’n find you glasses and a hat. Breakfast first.”

“His cooking is shit,” Ginjima warned, and pushed out a stool with his foot which Prince Shouyou accepted. “Quite ironic, really.”

“Why?”

“His brother, Osamu, is a chef.”

“Is this the brother you’re always fighting with?”

“We don’t fight now,” Atsumu protested. “Well, not that often. Yeah, he’s a chef. My cookin’ ain’t that bad. I c’n do eggs for us all.”

“I’ve eaten,” Gin said.

“Already?”

“No, but I can go without rather than eat burnt rubber eggs or whatever you’re about to present to us.”

“Eggs?” the Prince stopped giggling at the shirt he was wearing and looked up. “I like eggs.”

“He ruins them,” Gin replied. “Maybe you should … uh … give him a hand?”

Atsumu could see the picture now: ‘Pampered Prince Petrifies Breakfast.’

“Sure!” Getting up, he smiled at Atsumu, opened the fridge and found eggs. He set them aside, and much to Atsumu’s amusement and Gin’s surprise, the Prince began to rifle through the fridge and cupboards, plucking vegetables, discarding the rotten ones (there were far too many – Atsumu winced) and then reached for a pan.

“Your hob is so small!”

“That’s apartment livin’ for ya,” Atsumu muttered sourly.

“It’s neat, though.” Putting the pan on the stove, he added a dash of oil, turned on the heat and then cracked four of the eggs into a bowl. “Joining us, Ginjima-san?”

“Uh…” He was fiddling with his glasses, but nodded. “Sure, why not. You can’t be any worse than Miya.”

He added the rest of the eggs, another three and then to their collective surprise, Prince Shouyou chopped onions with ease. He beat the eggs with a knife, despite Atsumu handing him a whisk. “I like to do it this way so it keeps the yolk and white a little separate.”

“That’s us told,” Ginjima laughed.

“Is there cooked rice?”

“Nope,” Atsumu answered, as Ginjima tapped his glasses. “I have some pickles an’ stuff. And mushrooms. I like mushrooms.”

“Understood.” The Prince saluted him, and chuckled. He found the mushrooms, chopped them into paper thin slices before adding the onions to the sizzling pan.

And of course it could all go wrong at the last minute—no matter how many times Atsumu attempted omelettes they ended up with burnt bits scattered throughout, or the consistency of polystyrene—but there was something about the dexterity the Prince had with the knife, and how he swirled the eggs into the pan with the oil and onions, that reminded him of his brother.

He served up the thick omelette with aplomb, split between three plates. Atsumu found the pickles and the three of them sat around the table devouring the food.

“This is good!” Ginjima exclaimed. “Where didja learn to cook like this? I wouldn’t have thought—” He broke off after Atsumu squashed his foot under the table.

“Wouldn’t have thought what?” The Prince asked slowly.

“Uh… there were two people who could make an omelette this good,” Ginjima covered, and gestured with his head towards Atsumu. “His brother being the other one.”

“’Samu never puts in enough mushrooms for me, so this is better,” Atsumu laughed. “You like cookin’?”

“Yes, when I get the chance. When I was abroad if I couldn’t sleep, I’d end up in the kitchen because it was quiet. It seemed a good idea to teach myself some basics.”

“Ain’t nothin’ basic about this,” Ginjima rasped and helped himself to more.

“Hat!” Atsumu cried and threw it in the Prince’s direction.

They’d finished breakfast, and with twitchy feet Prince Shouyou was desperate to start his adventure, coming close to _demanding_ they leave. It was the fact he continually checked himself, which made Atsumu smile, that and he sat quite meekly on the beanbag while Atsumu rifled through a drawer to find a hat and a spare pair of sunglasses.

“Street market ain’t open yet,” Atsumu said. “We could have another cup of tea.”

“Coffee,” Ginjima put in, picking up on the vibe.

“B-but…” With what looked like a supreme effort, the Prince took a breath and smiled fixedly. (The expression reminiscent of his father’s when he was exercising extreme diplomacy.) “Yes, of course. I leave it to you. Only—”

“I wouldn’t mind another coffee actually,” Ginjima interrupted, stifling a yawn, and glaring at Atsumu. “I was woken early.”

“Sure, why not,” Atsumu began, but then a message flashed through on his phone, and there was no time, no time for anything, not if he wanted to recover his status on the paper, and not land in jail. “Second thoughts, let’s go now. Glasses, Shrimpo!”

“But my coffee!” Gin protested.

“I’ll buy ya one,” Atsumu snapped. “C’mon. Time to go!”

He hustled them both out of the door, pushing Prince Shouyou and dragging Gin, who yelled as he stopped to pick up his shoes.

“What the fuck is the rush?” he hissed.

“Suna-fucking-Rintarou is the rush,” Atsumu seethed. “Heard I had a day off and wants to go over my file on the politician.”

“Which you obviously don’t want to do.”

“He can do his own frickin’ research, but also … you want to explain what we’re doin’ with the Sunshine Prince to the _second_ best investigative reporter the Inarizaki Herald has?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, okay so I'm improvising some chapter titles from other Audrey Hepburn films. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Horizons as Wide as a Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “’Tsumu,” Gin whispered, sounding serious. “Should we drop this?”  
> He considered the question. “We’re not preventin’ him from leavin’, but he don’t wanna go back yet, does he?”   
> “Come on,” Prince Shouyou cried, straining at the leash. “Why are we waiting?”  
> “Tyin’ my lace,” Atsumu lied, then turned back to Gin. “He’s better off with us than runnin’ into someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day out ... what could possibly go wrong?

The street market was still setting up when they arrived, not that Prince Shouyou seemed to mind he couldn’t buy anything, simply standing at the top of the road and taking off the sunglasses to drink it all in.

He sniffed at the air. “I thought it would be more … um … pungent.”

“It ain’t a fish market,” Atsumu explained. “This one’s on twice a month, an’ it’s mixed. So there’ll be some street food a bit later, but for now they’re settin’ up material stalls and souvenirs.”

“So what do they do for the rest of the month?”

“Other streets, other stalls… I guess,” Atsumu replied.

“Some are part time, or they work in a store and turn up for this more for publicity than sales,” Gin put in. He nudged Atsumu. “The coffee kiosk is open, go get me one.”

“What did your last servant die of?”

“Caffeine withdrawal.”

“I’ll get it. Where from?”

They stopped bickering, turning to see the Prince directing his question to Ginjima, his head tilted to one side and his large soft brown eyes staring up at him.

“Pardon?” Ginjima asked.

“You wanted a coffee but I’m the reason we’re here, so I should be the one to buy it. And something for you, Atsumu-san?”

“Me, no I’m fine,” he muttered, then screwed up his face hearing his phone ring. Seeing it was Suna, he wanted to ignore it, but he knew how persistent the guy was so with an eyeroll he walked a few steps away to answer.

“Where are you, Miya?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Because I’m coming over to go through that file. Kita told me you had a pass on the royal story because the Prince is ill.”

“I’m not around.”

“He said I should talk to you about this.”

He sounded smooth, a sure sign he was lying.

“Yeah, he told me to take time out, and workin’ with you ain’t doin’ that.”

“Don’t be such a sore loser,” Suna retorted. “Just because you’ve been pulled off this story and stuck on the royal schmaltz, doesn’t mean you have to be sour about it!”

“I ain’t sour!” Atsumu snapped, then checked himself because a startled Prince had turned around. He gave him a wide smile, and then walked further away, hissing, “You listen to me, you third rate hack. The only reason you got that story is cuz you kiss so much ass. You ain’t havin’ my notes just cuz you can’t be bothered to do your own research. You’ve got my story. Use that if you’re so desperate.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’ve got anything to do!” Suna replied, and Atsumu knew he was smirking. Probably while sitting across the breakfast table from his brother.

“I’ve got lots to do! Workin’ on a big story right now.”

“Ah, yeah, I forgot. Transcribing official royal reports, and toadying after a spoilt brat of a boy.”

“Better than that.”

“Sure … you keep telling yourself that, ‘Tsum-Tsum, or accept the fact I’m just as valuable—if not more valuable—to the paper than you.” He began to laugh. “You’re writing a story about a royal tour, while I’m about to break the scandal of the year! You’ll be swept away by the pile of my press cuttings and awards.”

“No fuckin’ chance,” Atsumu seethed. “I’ll … I’ll …”

Suna laughed. “You’ll what?”

“Get a royal exclusive – how about that? Somethin’ none of the other papers’ll run but they’ll be talkin’ about for the next decade. And your scandal will be hamster cage lining before the ink’s dry.”

“Oh ho …. Is that a bet?”

“Yeah … yeah, it is.”

“Stakes?”

“If I deliver, I get the byline on the politician story.”

He could see the cogs in Suna’s brain ticking over.

“You have to get a proper exclusive and not made up crap about how he’s missing his cat,” he said slowly. “And actual photos, not the standard ones anyone can snap.”

“As if I’d do that!”

“If you don’t,” Suna continued, “then I get your file on the politician, the name of your source, _and_ full credit.”

The name of his source. Tricky. In the normal run of things, he’d only ever share the source with his editor, and certainly not with someone as ambitious and sneaky as Suna, but … Atsumu glanced across to the coffee kiosk, watched as Prince Shouyou sipped a large cappuccino getting foam on his nose and beaming a smile as Ginjima surreptitiously snapped his picture, and he smirked. This was too easy.

“Deal!” he declared.

Prince Shouyou had been staring at the material stall for a good ten minutes, fascinated, it seemed, by the bolts of brightly coloured cloth being stacked and the effort expended setting it up.

Watching him, Atsumu was reminded of himself and Osamu in an old fashioned sweetshop with sweets on jars where you could pick what you wanted. And later, Osamu’s expression in a spice market breathing in not just the smells but the colours. and the feel of each spice in his fingers.

Thinking back to the formal pictures he’d seen of the Prince, it clicked why he was so in awe and also why he’d not objected in the slightest to the gaudiness of his clothes right now. The royal family dressed in blacks and whites, the occasional pastel, and browns. It was an odd protocol, a legacy from the King’s grandfather’s era, and with his wife (popularly referred to as ‘The Dowager Dragon’) still alive, not one Prince Shouyou’s father had seen fit to update.

“I love that pink with the dragonflies,” said Prince Shouyou at last. “Do they make the clothes here?”

“Nope – they jus’ sell the cloth. You make it yourself, or in my case I get my Granny to run somethin’ up for me, when she’s not knittin’.” He cast him a side glance, deliberately not meeting Gin’s eyes. “Maybe your Gran could make you a shirt?”

Ginjima spluttered on the last of his coffee, but if Prince Shouyou noticed, he gave no sign, and let out a sigh. “Not my Grandmother.”

“You want a shirt out of that?” Ginjima asked, almost keeping his voice level.

“Not for me, but my sister would love it.” He laughed and pointed to another cloth bolt, pale blue with bright parrots. “That one, though. Wow.”

“They do have a tailor here, actually,” Gin said, sounding casual. “We could get two made.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they’ll need to measure you up, but could take a guess at your sister. She’s four—“ He broke off, suddenly realising he shouldn’t know the age of this sister. “Fortunate to have a brother like you,” Gin finished, thinking quickly.

“Younger or older?” Atsumu asked.

“Younger. I’ve not seen her for a while, so I don’t think I could even guess her size. Um … maybe I’ll buy her some ribbons, or a bandana, or I could find her a bracelet.”

“What colour hair? Red like you?”

Prince Shouyou rubbed the back of his neck. “No, she’s blonde,” he lied. “I think she’d like pink, or the bright green.”

“Pastel blue’s pretty good for blonds,” Atsumu protested, pointing to his own pale blue shirt.

“Actual blonds, not guys with bad dye jobs,” Gin sneered. He went to clap the Prince on the back, then thought better of it, recovering with a loud guffaw “Anyway, a shirt of finest parrot for Shrimpo. Let’s get you sorted out.”

The stallholder brought out the cloth bolt, and as they were the first customers of the day, he chattered away, unfussed at the time he was taking. He took measurements, too, and held up the cloth against Prince Shouyou’s chest, so they could see the material in all its glory (and Gin could snap another surreptitious picture). The Prince stood still as he was being measured, completely unabashed as he was treated like a mannequin, with various other swaths of material draped over his shoulders.

_He must be used to bein’ dressed up like this an’ fussed over._

“How ‘bout this, too?” Atsumu said, pointing to a dark green fabric embroidered with fantastical foxes in moonlight.

“I…I don’t have much money on me. I should have told you that,” the Prince replied forlornly. “That is lovely, though.” He sounded wistful, touching the foxes with a fingertip. “Look how they dance. It’s magical.”

“Ah, it’s on me,” Atsumu said, and grinned cheerily and thinking of the fat pay cheque he’d get for this story. Syndication rights, too!

His eyes shone, light cinnamon with flecks of amber. “Really? I will pay you back!”

“That’s … fine,” Atsumu said, momentarily nonplussed—not because the Prince was offering to pay his way, but because his delight and smile were somewhat … _nonplussing_. He spoke to the tailor. “Another in this, please.”

“Two shirts,” the tailor replied. “Ready in three days.”

“Three days!” the Prince said, aghast.

_Not plannin’ on stayin’ with us then._ “Anything earlier?”

The tailor deliberated, waggling his walnut tanned hand. “Depends. Express service, yes.”

“This afternoon?” Ginjima asked.

“End of day. One shirt. Tomorrow for both.”

“I might not—”

“We need both today,” Ginjima haggled. “Doesn’t have to be fancy. Short sleeves are fine, right?”

“Absolutely!” Prince Shouyou put in.

“Money up front!”

“Quarter now, rest later,” Gin continued.

“Half now.”

“Deal.”

“Ready at six.” The tailor grinned, his face creasing into a contour map of wrinkles, and Atsumu handed over his credit card.

“Thank you,” the Prince whispered. He was blinking, and Atsumu stared at him wondering if those were tears or a trick of the light.

“Uh… it’s not a problem,” he muttered, shuffling his feet.

“But it’s so kind. You really have been—”

“Think nuthin’ of it.” Turning away, he shoved his credit card into his back pocket, catching Ginjima’s quizzical eyes watching him.

“Kind,” Ginjima murmured, “not a word I’d associate with you, but … maybe he’s right.”

“Speculate to accumulate,” Atsumu hissed.

“You didn’t have to buy the second shirt,” Ginjima retorted softly. “That, Miya, was _kind_.”

“Where next?” Atsumu asked, swivelling round to Prince Shouyou. “What would you like to see?”

He inhaled. “I can smell something really good.”

“You’re hungry? We jus’ ate breakfast.”

And Prince Shouyou laughed. It started as a faint chuckle before becoming louder yet still light and lilting. “I’m always hungry, especially when something smells that good,” he replied, and pointed to a small stall diagonally across, where an old couple sat by a grill and a steamer. “What do they have?”

“Pork buns,” Atsumu replied, curious. “Have you not had them before?”

“Not from a stall. Not that I can remember. Let’s buy some.”

The headline Prince of Pork Buns, flashed into his mind. “You go ahead. I’m still full.”

It was after three pork buns, the purchase of sun and moon earrings, and green ribbons for his sister that the three of them found a bench to sit on. There was a musician with a guitar, a girl Atsumu had seen before when he’d wandered down here, but had never stopped to listen to before. Prince Shouyou, however, was as entranced with her song as he had been with the cloth stall and the pork buns.

“Pretty, huh?” Atsumu said, watching as the Prince’s eyes assessed her. She was probably their age, with chestnut hair worn coiled into the nape of her neck.

“Her voice is beautiful,” he mused. “The song’s sad though.”

“Is it?” Atsumu shrugged. “I don’t understand what she’s singin’.”

“It’s in French,” the Prince replied, sitting forward. “Perhaps she’s French.”

“This verse is English,” Ginjima put in. “Even I get that.”

‘ _But I miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves begin to fall,’_ finished the Prince, his voice pure and light.

The musician, on hearing him, turned around and gave him some light applause, then gestured for him to approach. He got up, threw a few yen in her upturned hat, and began a conversation with her, none of which Atsumu could understand. He started to twitch, senses alert but whether it was alarm or because there could be a story, he didn’t stop to ponder. In delight, the Prince was laughing with her, and continued chatting for another few minutes, glancing over his shoulder before wandering back to them.

“Is she French?” Atsumu asked.

“No, Portuguese,” he replied. “Making me quite homesick.”

“Homesick?”

“Well, for Brazil. I studied there. It’s a very different country, or so I thought. My abiding impression is how much more colourful it is there, but coming here … this is wonderful.”

To Atsumu it was normal, nothing he’d have remarked upon, but maybe the palace was granite and marble – what did he know.

Then Prince Shouyou sniggered as he sat back on the bench. “She thought you were very handsome, Atsumu-san.”

“That short-sighted is she?” Gin jumped in, laughing as Atsumu stopped mid-preen.

“You’re just jealous,” Atsumu replied, running his fingers through his hair. “She has good taste.”

“Won’t get her far, will it?” Ginjima replied.

“Why not?” Prince Shouyou asked.

“Because I’m too busy for a love-life,” Atsumu said firmly and glared at Gin. “And she ain’t my type.”

“Do people actually have types?” Prince Shouyou asked. “It’s always puzzled me because don’t you just get on with someone or not? Would their hair colour or height actually matter?”

“You a philosopher on the side, Shrimpo?” Atsumu teased. “Or a relationship counsellor.”

“I wondered that’s all,” he mumbled and with pinking cheeks, he studied his feet not looking at either of them.

Atsumu licked his lips, met Gin’s eyes and began slowly, “So… Shrimpo-kun, is there a special Shrimpette you’re hankerin’ after? Someone you’re missin’ from Brazil? Or has your heart been broken? Is that why you wax so el-o-quent?”

“Me?” He lifted his head, staring straight ahead, and although he didn’t physically sigh, it was as if the light had momentarily left his body. “It’s hard to be eloquent about anything when you have limited experience, Atsumu-san.” At last he took a breath, a deep inhalation that appeared to fill his chest and straighten his shoulders. “But I can learn.”

“Uh… about ‘shrimpettes’?” Gin asked, confused.

Prince Shouyou laughed again. “About everything! Right, I would like to see the park! But first…”

“You’re hungry again,” Atsumu drawled.

The Prince got to his feet twirling in front of them. “Do you have to be hungry to have ice cream?”

“What are you? Five?” Ginjima asked, laughing.

But Prince Shouyou didn’t stop, instead he smiled even wider. “Five, a wonderful age when everything’s ahead of you.”

“Okay, Grandpa,” Atsumu chided gently. “I’ll find ice cream, you two go on ahead to the park.”

“Why?” Ginjima murmured out of the Prince’s earshot.

“Because I want to see if there’s any news about him. Look, t’ be on the safe side, it’s prolly best to keep him out of shops and away from crowds.”

“You’re worried ‘bout something.”

“Jus’ hyper aware. That busker knows there’s someone around here who speaks Portuguese and she got a good look at us.”

“You think she’s dodgy?”

He shook his head, watching as the girl started another song. “Naw, she’s legit, but if she were questioned, then why wouldn’t she tell ‘em everything?”

“’Tsumu,” Gin whispered, sounding serious. “Should we drop this?”

He considered the question. “We’re not preventin’ him from leavin’, but he don’t wanna go back yet, does he?”

“Come on,” Prince Shouyou cried, straining at the leash. “Why are we waiting?”

“Tyin’ my lace,” Atsumu lied, then turned back to Gin. “He’s better off with us than runnin’ into someone else.”

There was no news, either on his phone or on the TV screen in the corner shop where he bought ice cream. This could only mean one thing – that the Palace were as worried about who Prince Shouyou might meet as he was, and if they publicised his absence, then every criminal worth their salt would be looking for him, too, desperate to make a buck or worse.

“At least what we publish will be the truth,” he told himself and loped along to the park.

Ginjima had taken the warning to heart, and it took Atsumu a good few minutes to find them, despite the Prince’s larey clothes because they were on one of the side paths, standing under a tree, with Gin positioning himself slightly in front to block casual passersby view.

“There ya go, short-stuff,” Atsumu said, handing over an ice cream cone, now in danger of collapsing under the sun which had started to peek out from the clouds.

“I’m not _that_ short,” Prince Shouyou complained.

“I don’t get a ‘thank you for buying me ice cream, Atsumu-san’ then?”

“Yes, of course, but it’s only that compared with you two, I appear short.” He sucked on the ice cream. “Mmm, this is good. Is your brother your height?”

“We’re identical, so yeah.”

“He’s marginally taller,” Ginjima said, then added in a loud aside. “Don’t ever mention that to Atsumu, especially don’t keep going on about it because it really winds him up when we say how Osamu towers over him.”

“IT’S ONE CENTIMETER!” Atsumu yelled.

“See, it really rattles him,” Gin continued in a stage whisper, “so it’s best if we never, ever, ever, ever talk about how Osamu got not just the cooking skills but all the height in that family.”

Prince Shouyou watched the exchange between them as if watching a tennis match, his mouth dropping open when Atsumu shouted, then curving into a smile when Ginjima continued.

“You know each other very well, don’t you? Were you at school together?”

“No, but I did some promo work for Osamu when he was first opening up.”

“Promotional work?” the Prince was puzzled, creasing his brow.

“Yeah, pho-oh-oh what I mean is I supplied some plants to him, and also … uh … herbs, cuz they’re kind of a hobby of mine.”

Atsumu clapped his hands through the sticky treacle of Ginjima’s story. “Sooooo, what shall we do now, Shrimpo? Or are you gonna object to that name too!”

“Shrimpo is fine,” he replied, “and what I want to do now is …” He sucked in his breath, twisted from side to side as he observed the space in front of them. There were children playing volleyball on the grass, adults walking across to tennis courts carrying racquets, a handful of joggers dodging cyclists as they circuited the park.

Somethin’ unobtrusive. Atsumu tried to drill into him.

And then the Prince looked over his shoulder and up, and he breathed again. “I want to climb a tree. How about it, Atsumu? I bet I can get to the top before you. And you, too, Ginjima?”

“I’ll stay on the ground. No head for heights at all,” Ginjima laughed. “and this guy’s the sa—.”

Two bets in one day. Two bets Atsumu wasn’t about to lose. He crushed Ginjima with a look. Sure, he’d once had a problem climbin’ the Skytree, but an _actual_ tree … pfft!

“Sure, why not. Hey, ‘Toshi, just so’s I can see where I’m going, can I borrow your glasses?”

“Are you shortsighted?” Prince Shouyou asked.

“Uh… just a little. Nuthin’ to worry about.”

“Too vain to wear glasses, and keeps losing contacts,” Ginjima replied nonchalantly. He handed over the glasses, then pulled out sunglasses instead. “I’ll stay here and look cool.”

“Take more than shades,” Atsumu countered. He put on the glasses, and was immediately struck by how normal they looked. He’d thought it would be odd as if he were looking through a camera lens, but the glass was plain, with no zoom or focus.

Prince Shouyou was already pulling himself up onto the first wide branch when Atsumu clutched the tree trunk trying to find foot and handholds. It had been years since he’d climbed a tree, the last time was probably with ‘Samu, where they’d raced each other like monkeys to the highest point they could.

As he followed the Prince, scrabbling hold of branches and clutching at leaves, he wondered how he could have forgotten how much fun it was.

“I think this is as far as we can go.”

“Huh? Why? You wussin’ out on me, Shrimpo?”

“We’re just underneath the canopy and the branches are too thin,” he explained and taking off the baseball cap and sunglasses, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “But I’m going to sit for a while. I don’t mind if you leave now, but I did win.”

“Ha!” He hoisted himself up to the Prince’s branch, staying closer to the trunk. “I’ll stay if you don’t mind the company.”

As Prince Shouyou faced him, smiling as the sunshine filtered through the leaves and caught the colours of his hair, Atsumu’s breath hitched at the perfect picture. He clicked the tiny button on the glasses and then looked away.

“Why d’you like climbin’?” he asked.

A faint breeze rustled the leaves; the Prince was silent for a while, but when he spoke it was in as a hushed a tone.

“It got me away from things. You can see over all the walls. Up here you’re utterly alone with no one to do your thinking for you.”

“An’ I’m disturbin’ that.”

“You?” He shook his head. “You’re one of the most refreshing people I’ve ever met, Atsumu-san. You make me … think more, not less.”

“Oh.”Swallowing a sudden mass which had appeared in his throat, Atsumu fidgeted on the branch. There was a gap in the branches and he craned his neck to look through it, to find something to distract himself from Prince Shouyou’s presence and words.

And as he squinted away from the sunlight, he cast his eyes to the opposite corner of the park, where a bunch of kids had set up a rudimentary volleyball net and were biffing the ball to each other. He smiled little and then his attention was caught by two figures on the sidelines. Two figures dressed in black, as unobtrusive in this park as foxes in a henhouse, and he hardened his glance.

“Scuse me, gotta check my messages,” he murmured to the Prince, and rapidly texted Gin.

**< <Hey, the two goons from the Crow Guard. I think they’re in the park.>>**

**_< <Yep. Already clocked them.>>_ **

There was a pause as Atsumu considered their options. The Prince was gazing upwards through the leaves, sunshine dappling his face and the smattering of freckles across his nose.

**_< <IS THERE A PLAN!!!>> _ **

“Is something the matter, Atsumu-san?” Prince Shouyou asked, slightly tentative.

Atsumu looked up from the screen and stared across at him. It was the freckles that did it, the apparent ‘imperfection’ airbrushed out of official portraits and photographs. He raised his eyebrows to uncrease his brow and offered him a smile.

“Nuthin’. Let’s stay here a while, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this won't be four chapters, but probably five. Blame Suna.


	4. Scarcely a Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have a problem with heights,” stated Prince Shouyou.  
> “More with drops, actually,” Atsumu tried to joke, still screwing up his eyes. “Specifically that last two centimetres before I hit the ground.”  
> “You’re not going to ‘hit’ the ground.”  
> “No, cuz I’m gonna stay up here and live a life of kindness like I always shoulda done. ‘Samu can bring me food an’ I’ll hoist it up here, build myself a treehouse and never—” His breathing almost back to normal, he opened his eyes again, found the ground was a blur and groaned again. “Is Gin there?”  
> “A life of what?” The Prince shook his head. “Um, no … but I think I can see him walking across the field.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'In all treetops you perceive scarcely a breath.' - Goethe

Squinting through the leaves, Atsumu watched the slow progress of the Crow Guard as they processed around the perimeter of the park. They were thorough, he’d give them that, surveying with what appeared to be hawk like vision. But there were as far as he could tell just the two of them, so taking a calculated risk that they couldn’t hear him, he broke into the silence that had enveloped him and the Prince.

“Uh, sorry if I struck a nerve earlier.”

“Hmm?”

“Natterin’ on about a Shrimpette. Is there someone?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“You sound kinda sad about that,” he mooted.

“Me? No, I’m not sad. It’s … difficult.”

_OOOH…._

“Sorry, I shouldn’t pry,” Atsumu murmured, adding a soft smile.

“It’s … fine.” He took a deep breath. “My parents obviously want me to marry and they have ‘ideas’, like all parents do.”

Tilting his head to the side, Atsumu screwed up his face. “Actually mine don’t.”

“They’re not hankering for grandchildren?”

“Not particularly. Think they’d rather enjoy their time together now they got ‘Samu ‘n me off their hands.” He winked. “We were a lot of trouble. Your parents want grandkids then?”

“Yes. It’s … um … important. To them, I mean.”

“Oh, gahhd, I bet they invite friends round with single daughters.”

“Something like that.”

“And, have they picked ya a bride already?” he asked, and flicked him a slow glance. _Come on, come on, come on._

“They’ve tried.” He closed his eyes. “What do you fight with your brother about?”

“Huh? Um, lots of stuff. Not so much now, but sharin’ a room with him, growin’ up together, we rubbed each other up the wrong way, I guess. So, these single daugh—”

“Are you very different?”

“Huh? They’ll tell ya I’m the evil one.”

“But you’ll say he is.”

“Naw, we’re the same.” He winced. “Samu’s _kinder_.”

“Kinda what?”

“No, no, I mean he’s ‘kind'. But that’s about it. He does cook better that I do.”

The Prince was studying him, his chin tilted to the side. “In what way kinder? Is he a saint?”

“Naw, he’s …he’s … he wants people to think he’s okay, I guess, whereas I don’t give a fuck.”

“What, he fakes being nice?”

“Yeah, course.” He grinned. “I’m kiddin’ ya. ‘Samu makes an effort. Said he— Ahh, don’t matter.”

“What?”

“Nuthin’.”

“Please.”

“It’s dumb. Not worth talkin’ about.”

“But you’re … um … peeved.”

He snorted. “Cuz it was a reaction to me, that’s all.”

Looking away, he studied the bark of the tree trunk, watching a tiny spider creeping across a leaf, and he wondered whether to trap it in his hand, to see if it would spin a web before he got to it, or whether the leaf would buffet the spider off in the next breath of the wind.

“Why d’you ask if he was a saint?” he mumbled.

“Um… because you’ve been very kind to me, Atsumu-san, so someone who is kinder must be ‘saintlike’.”

“Aw, and now you’re making me blush,” he said, a little flustered, laughing to cover up the very real pinking he could feel spread across his cheeks.

“Not many people would have taken a stranger into their house.”

“I couldn’t exactly leave you there, ‘specially cuz I thought you was drunk. It weren’t the best of places’ y’know.” He blinked, and flicked his attention back to the whole reason they were chatting. “Why were you there? Were you s’posed to meeting someone?”

“I just ended up there.” The Prince shrugged. “You know how it is.”

“Ah, wondered if it were an ‘assignation’,” Atsumu teased and quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re obsessed. There’s no one. There’s just a need to be alone. Sometimes.” Looking away, Prince Shouyou was silent, the only sound coming from him a faint sigh.

_Oh…_

“Want me to go now?” he asked, a little shamefaced.

Distracted, the Prince twisted back to him, the movement making the branch shake. “Hmm?”

“Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit? Only I could get down now, wait for ya at the bottom.”

“N-no.” He shifted further along the branch. “Let’s stay. Only, let’s not talk for a bit.”

“Sure…” Trailing off, he followed the direction of Prince Shouyou’s darting glances. He’d been looking through the gap in the leaves, and there sure enough hoving into view was the shorter of the Crow Guard.

_He can leave any time he wants. And he don’t want._

He peered down to catch a glance of Gin, but there was only a space and no one keeping watch. Gritting his teeth, Atsumu considered bollocking him by text, but that might arouse suspicion from the Prince and his hands were shaking so much, he thought he’d drop it. He looked through the leaves again, following Nishinoya’s progress, then caught his breath as the bodyguard took a call, and then dashed off in the other direction.

The relief radiating from the Prince was almost as audible as his own.

“Sorry,” the Prince muttered.

“What for?”

“That was rude, telling you to be quiet.”

“Huh? Naw, it wasn’t. Everyone tells me to shut up. Guess I’m annoyin’.”

“I wasn’t telling you to shut up,” said the Prince.”I just … um … wanted some quiet.”

“Same thing.” He grinned, intent on building on this. “I ain’t offended,” Atsumu said. “So you was gonna tell me all about the shrimpette.”

“Stop!” the Prince raised his hand. “I was going to do no such thing. There is no shrimpette for one thing, at least …”

“At least? Sounds interesting.” Atsumu, momentarily forgetting where he was, leered towards him, and the glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. Meaning to push them back, his finger accidentally hooked them off and before he could catch them, they’d slipped off entirely. He watched them plunge, watched as they skirted through a blanket of leaves, narrowly missing one of the wider branches as they dropped onto the grass below.

“Oops.” The Prince peered down. “They didn’t hit anything on the way down, so they should be fine. Where’s Ginjima-san?”

“No idea.” Atsumu swallowed, his hands were trembling again and he could feel himself flushing hot as sweat beaded on his brow.

“Are you all right?”

He tried to clear his throat, but there was something rasping in his craw. “Um… we’re quite high up here, ain’t we?”

“About as high as we can go,” the Prince agreed.

“It’s kinda jus’ occurred to me that I’ve got to get down,” he said, and started to laugh, then closed his mouth, pressing his lips together as he took in the distance from where he was to the ground.

“Pardon?”

Atsumu closed his eyes. _Breathe. This ain’t the Skytree. Breathe you dumb fuck, Breathe._

“Atsumu-san?”

“I.”

“I’ll be fine,” he husked.

The glasses had given him a false sense of security, he realised that now. He’d had something to focus on, a job to do, and now it was just him and the Prince up in a tree.

_A FUCKING TREE!_

“You have a problem with heights,” stated Prince Shouyou.

“More with drops, actually,” he tried to joke, still screwing up his eyes. “Specifically that last two centimetres before I hit the ground.”

“You’re not going to ‘hit’ the ground.”

“No, cuz I’m gonna stay up here and live a life of kindness like I always shoulda done. ‘Samu can bring me food an’ I’ll hoist it up here, build myself a treehouse and never—” His breathing almost back to normal, he opened his eyes again, found the ground was a blur and groaned again. “Is Gin there?”

“A life of what?” The Prince shook his head. “Um, no … but I think I can see him walking across the field.”

“Okay.” He took another breath, filling his nostrils and lungs. “There’s only one thing I hate more than bein’ up here right now, and that’s bein’ humiliated. So, I need to get down somehow. If I jus’ let go, then it won’t hurt much, right?”

“Atsumu!”

“Kidding, kidding.” He laughed weakly. “I’m sorry, I know I gotta get down but I can’t seem to let go of this damn trunk.”

“Give me your hand.”

“WHAT!”

“Let go, and give me your hand. Baby steps, Atsumu-san.”

“Nope.”

“You were fine before,” he soothed. Then his tone changed. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

“Why?” He squinted at the Prince.

He’d moved closer, shuffling along his legs either side of the branch, until he was within touching distance. “If you can focus on something else and not look down, then you can get to the bottom.”

“Gimme a few minutes.”

“Or I could climb down, find Ginjima-san and he’ll fetch a ladder.”

“No!” Had he yelped? He hoped not.

And then Prince Shouyou, who’d crept closer during the ruminations, reached across and placed his hand over Atsumu’s hand. “You’re too big for me to piggy back you, so instead I’ll be next to you the whole way. I’ll be your eyes finding footholds, and we can take breaks. We’ll do this at your pace.”

It was embarrassing. Miya Atsumu, investigative journalist, tenacious as hell and with the battle scars to prove it, currently wimping out in a tree, whilst a spoilt brat of a prince talked him down.

But then, Prince Shouyou hadn’t shown himself to be spoilt in any way, more wistful if anything.

He swallowed. “Can I really not go on your back?”

“I’m a shrimp, remember?”

“You’re strong, though.”

“And I’d need to fold you in two.” His fingers interlaced with Atsumu’s and he gave a slight squeeze. “Come on, put your arms around the trunk, turn and fix your feet on the branch below us.”

“I can’t move.”

With a sigh, the Prince inched himself up, and grasped a thinner branch above them.

Atsumu gaped. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to get to the other side of the tree, so we can get down together, okay. You go down the right, and I’ll be on the left, but I need to swing round to there first.”

“Swing?”

“Like a monkey. Don’t worry about me, I’m good at this.”

“Your super power.”

“Mmm, maybe.”

With a wriggle and twist, Prince Shouyou climbed a little further up, then as if scaling a climbing wall, he found handholds around the thick trunk, and manoeuvred himself to the left hand side of the tree, sitting on a branch slightly below Atsumu. “Ready?” he asked.

“I guess.”

“I could call the police or the fire brigade.”

“You’d do that?”

“Um, yes.” He blinked as the realisation hit him. “If you can’t move, if you really think you’re in danger of falling, then you need to stay put and I’ll get help.”

At a cost to his freedom, Atsumu thought. And while he was tempted, the combination of losing his story, the humiliation and maybe not seeing that smile again, decided him.

“I ain’t a cat.”

“What?”

“Ain’t that what firefighters have to rescue from trees.” Shifting his arms around the trunk, he gingerly lowered himself to the next branch. “Ohhh, shiiiit.”

“Look at me instead. You’ve made it. You’re perfectly safe.”

He believed him. And maybe that was because he was staring into his eyes and not down at the ground, but given the alternative made his head spin, and this merely caused a flip in his heartbeat ( _mus’ be the adrenaline_ ), he’d keep his focus where it was.

“Next branch is closer, so stretch out to it,” the Prince was saying, his voice soft and slow. “That’s it. And you know, as we get lower, the branches are thicker so they’re much more secure.”

“There mus’ be a moral in that somewhere.”

“The older you are the thicker you are?”

“Haaaa.” He giggled stupidly, then gasped as his hands slipped and scraped momentarily from the trunk. “Jeez, don’t make me laugh,” he rasped and grappled for the tree again, pressing his forehead into the bark.”

“Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He exhaled, pursing his lips so the last vestige f panic whistled through his lips. “Keep chattin, will ya? It stops me thinkin’.”

The Prince looped his arms around a branch, and with his feet felt his next step. “Should I be insulted at that?”

“Shrimpo-chan, I’m always thinkin’. My mind buzzes, takin’ in info, or spewin’ out crap. It’s kinda nice to pause.” He hissed and closed his eyes as a twig full of leaves slapped his face. “Where next?”

“It’s a slightly longer drop. Remember when you heaved yourself up? We’re at that point.”

_That don’t sound good._ He remembered the stretch and effort on his shoulders. And despite the fact he was trying his hardest to quell the panic in his gut, something must have shown on his face. Prince Shouyou stretched out and touched Atsumu’s hair.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’ve got this.”

Have I?

“How about I swing round to that branch, and then as you come down, I can grab hold of you? Would that help?”

Unable to formulate words, Atsumu nodded, feeling dumb, then closed his eyes as the Prince scaled the trunk of the tree, dropping surefootedly onto Atsumu’s destination, and waited.

“I’m here. Inch down slowly.”

“Inch? Ain’t we all metric now?”

“Centimetre down, then.”

“Haaaa – you’re makin’ me laugh again,” he replied, his voice wobbling.

But he slowly lowered his right leg, found a tree knot to grasp amongst the bark, and carefully toed down until his trainer at last found the branch.

“You’re doing well. Just a bit further. I’m here,” soothed Prince Shouyou.

And when at last he found the will to leave the relative security of the higher branch, Atsumu found a hand waiting for him, clasping his fingers, and a soft smile on the Prince’s face.

“That’s the worst part done now. If you fell—”

“Hey, don’t talk ‘bout that!”

“If you fell now,” Prince Shouyou persisted, “it’s not that far down and there are no crooked branches to spear yourself on. You could feasibly jump if you wanted to.”

“Uh… really?”

“Depends how good you are at landing.”

“Is anyone _good_ at landing?”

“Hmm, I’ve had training.”

The sweat was drying on his brow and his head had stopped spinning, but his palm was still sweaty. Embarrassed, he wriggled it free from the Prince’s grasp and wiped on his shirt. “Um …Training?” 

“In case I’m in an aeroplane and need to parachute out.”

Of course he’d have had training. But what was the correct response here, because so few other people would have had that.

“Uh… military family or somethin’?”

“Or something, yes.” Clearing his throat, the Prince sat down and then swung under the branch, monkey crawling along it to give Atsumu some space. “Come on, the next one’s is much easier. If you turn around and keep your hands on this branch, you can reach it with your feet.” And to illustrate the point, he dangled until his toes had contact, steadied himself, before crouching below Atsumu.

“That didn’t look safe!” Atsumu gasped. “Jeez, you mus’ think I’m the worst type of coward, scared of a tree.”

“Coward? Um, no. You climbed up, knowing you might have a problem. That’s reckless, I guess, but you’re facing your fear by climbing down and not having me run for help.” He tilted his head to the side, remembering something. “You remind me a little of a friend, who’s scared of so much, but she always faces it, and that’s braver than doing something without thinking.”

“Good friend?”

“Mmm.” He began to nod and then scoffed. “Not my shrimpette, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I ain’t thinkin’ nothin’ right now, ‘cept how t’ get down, cuz your feet only jus’ made that last branch.”

“Your legs are twice the length of mine,” Prince Shouyou replied drily. “If a shrimp like me can make it …”

He was right. With a tiny vestige of confidence, Atsumu stretched out one leg, found the branch and then landed with both feet, still with one hand wrapped around the upper one.

“You could even swing if you wanted to,” the Prince laughed, and twisted underneath again, clinging with his hands before finding another foothold on the trunk. Then after checking Atsumu was following and not falling, he gave a final grin, before softly landing on the grass below.

“Yeah, think I’ll carry on the slow way, thanks,” Atsumu muttered. But although he was a little put out at how effortless the Prince had made it look, he couldn’t help be impressed. It was like their positions had been reversed and Prince Shouyou was the daredevil, while he was the cosseted heir to the throne.

“I can see Ginjima-san,” the Prince called out.

“Cool.” He scrambled down the tree, picked up the glasses from the grass (they were fine, just a little dusty) and leant nonchalantly against the trunk. “Where d’you get to?” he asked, throwing in a scowl so Ginjima knew it was a scolding for running off.

“Thought I saw someone I knew,” Gin replied, blinking slowly. “Went to say hi, but I must have been wrong. He took one look at me and walked away.”

“Maybe he did recognise ya, and that’s why he walked off,” Atsumu hooted. Then he met Gin’s intense stare and it clicked into place.

“Clever,” he murmured in an aside as Gin stepped closer.

“Yeah, last thing they want is a nosy photographer wondering what they’re doing in the park,” he whispered.

“What’s that?” Prince Shouyou asked.

“We’re wonderin’ where to take you next,” Atsumu lied.

“Uh…” He was peering out into the park, emerging from the trees to look from left to right as he scanned the horizon.

“Do you need to get back somewhere?” Ginjima asked softly.

“No… not yet. I want … I’d like to see the streets at night, if that’s not putting you out.”

Street food, maybe a beer or two. The Prince out of his orbit with the commoners.

“Is that a good id—” Ginjima put in.

“That’s cool,” Atsumu said, silencing Ginjima with a sideglance.

“I can’t join you tonight,” he warned.

“S’fine. You got things to do. I get that.”

“Miya…”

“Is this a problem?” Prince Shouyou asked, squaring his shoulders. “You don’t have to take care of me. I am able to find my own way around.”

“No … no … it’s all fine. Gin can’t join us, but how ‘bout we go back to mine?” He pulled out his tee shirt, smiling ruefully at the dirt it had managed to collect. “I climb a tree and come down lookin’ like a hoodlum so need a change of clothes.”

“And you have leaves in your hair.” Prince Shouyou laughed, reached up to pluck them out and his fingertips graced Atsumu’s cheek. Feeling himself unexpectedly redden, he flinched.

The Prince dropped his hand. “Sorry.”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Atsumu mumbled and bent over to shake out his hair.

“I’ll … uh … leave you to it,” Gin said slowly. He turned his back and began to walk off, shoulders a little slouched, but just as he reached the path, he looked back over his shoulder. “Miya, the shirts.” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, what about them?”

“I’ll pick them up.” He stared at him. “In case you want to take a more scenic route home.”

Backstreets. Alleyways. Shortcuts. The sort of places only locals would know about.

“Yeah, thanks.” He took a sudden breath. “Thank you, ‘Toshi.”

“You’ve forgotten your glasses,” said Prince Shouyou, unhooking them from Atsumu’s collar and dashing forward to hand them back to Ginjima.

“Ah, no, that’s fine,” Gin muttered.

Atsumu shook his head, more to clear his mind of the images crashing into his mind: of Prince Shouyou eating street food with his fingers and dancing to music, of dark alleyways they could slip down, and the confidences he could inveigle out of him. But busting through those snapshots, was a smile, wide eyes and a hand covering his as he coaxed Atsumu out of a tree.

_I’m gettin’ soft._

“Yeah, take ‘em,” Atsumu replied, earning a ‘look’ from Ginjima. “Thanks again. See ya soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, Ginjima-san,” said the Prince, and bowed a little. “Hope the plants treat you well.”

“Um, yeah.” He bowed back, low and reverentially, and Atsumu knew Ginjima was hiding a sudden blush. “Better get back to tendin’ them,” he said gruffly, and swivelling on his heels he jogged off.

Taking Gin’s warning to heart, Atsumu led them back to his apartment via a couple of cut-throughs and dank side alleyways. Not that Prince Shouyou was objecting, as he pulled the baseball cap further over his distinctively vibrant hair and looked over his shoulder a few times. To keep up the pretence, Atsumu pointed out a few informal landmarks ‘that’s my old nursery school’, ‘that place has the best coffee when you need it at one a.m.’ and ‘Me and ‘Samu used to paddle in this stream’.

“You’ve lived here your entire life?”

“Pretty much.”

“And college?”

He blinked. _Did Graphic Artists go to college? I’m 22, I’d only justa qualified. Uhm…_

“Yeah … short course, though. Like only a year, ‘cuz I fast tracked and my school was kinda specialist and … ‘Samu went to catering college. First time we were separated actually.”

“Did you miss him?”

“Uhm…” They strolled past a wire fence where some new houses were being built. It had been tennis courts, Atsumu remembered, another place he and ‘Samu had played… and fought.

“More than I thought I would,” he admitted, then cleared his throat. “So did you miss your sister?”

“She’s seven years younger, so it’s not like we have a lot in common except family.” He smiled softly. “But, yeah, I miss her. It’s only siblings who can really understand, don’t you think?”

“I guess.”

“So… can I meet your brother?”

“Wow, bold of you. On such a short acquaintance, Shrimpo, you’re demandin’ things of me?”

“I didn’t demand. I asked quite nicely,” Prince Shouyou replied, still smiling.

“Uh… I dunno. He’s busy and …”

“Oh, are you fighting? Is that the problem?”

Atsumu shrugged. “I don’t get on with his partner.”

“Ah… is she a dragon?”

“No, a fox,” he said unguarded. “A sneaky, sly ambitious manipulative fox.”

“I quite like foxes, they’re clever,” replied Prince Shouyou.”And cunning. Bit like cro—uh … You don’t like her then?”

“I don’t like _him_ ,” Atsumu muttered and stopped walking, slinking into the fence, pressing his back into it as he stared up at the sky. “Still wanna meet my brother, or is that a problem?”

“It’s not a problem, but is it for you?”

“Nope!” he said decisively and sprung back off the wall. “The only problem I have is with my brother’s choice, which is yet another reaction to me.” Moodily he scuffed his shoe on the ground, kicking a stone across the path.

“Or he fell in love,” Prince Shouyou said, staring up at him.

“What’s Love but somethin’ made up to sell greetin’ cards?” Atsumu scoffed. “’Samu leads a life of fuckin’ kindness to everyone but his own brother.” He heard the vehemence and bitterness in his tone and tried to laugh it off, to lighten the mood and get back to talking to the Prince about his family, but then he felt a tug on his sleeve, and a hand covering his.

“Come on,” said the Prince softly. “Let’s go back to yours, and you can talk some more… if you want.”

Which was the complete opposite of what this day was supposed to be about, but Atsumu found himself agreeing because … he did want.


	5. A Helluva Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu grinned and for some odd reason known only to his strange psyche, he stuck out his hand the way he used to with Osamu when they were kids.   
> And to his surprise, the Prince accepted it, sliding his smaller, warm hand into Atsumu’s and giving him a smile.   
> “Lead on, Atsumu-san!”

Predictably, by the time they reached his apartment, the Prince was hungry. Atsumu was too, and although they could have cooked, that would have meant Atsumu going out again to buy food. He ordered in pizza—something Prince Shouyou appeared to be hideously excited about.

“You musta had pizza before.”

“Well, yes, but not for a long time and not …” He bit into a slice, not bothering to wait for a plate. “Not takeaway. This is …”

“Greasy,” Atsumu supplied, then grinned. “Frickin’ good, right. I love the melty cheese ‘n the pepperoni. My boss would freak out at my diet, but sometimes you need somethin’ really awful to oil the works, right?”

“Ha, that’s one way of putting it.” He munched a bit more. “You have a boss? Don’t you work for yourself?”

“Um… I’m a contractor, so yeah, I do,” he replied smoothly, “but I do some work for a company. My boss is a stickler for health, takin’ breaks, eatin’ the right food an’ all that stuff.” He chewed some more pizza, hoping the Prince would forget the question but he was still looking at him. “In case you’re worried, he’s more or less ordered me to take some time off, so you ain’t interruptin’ anything.”

“Does your brother disapprove of takeaway pizza, too?”

“’Samu!” he hooted. “Naw, he’s cool ‘bout food. Like, he mainly makes onigiri ‘n stuff and his food’s healthy and tasty, too. His fatty tuna onigiri is…” He broke off and chef-kissed his fingers. “But he thinks the um … _context_ , I guess, of food is important. So us slobbin’ out with a pizza in a box, after my ‘traumatic’ experience of gettin’ stuck in a tree, would be acceptable.”

“Is this ‘slobbing out’?”

“Uh, we should both be wearin’ sweat pants and watching TV too, but this is slobby enough.” Rueful, because he no longer had the glasses, he noticed a sliver of pepperoni stuck to the Prince’s cheek. “You got somethin’” Atsumu said, gesturing to his own face.

“Erk!” Prince Shouyou grumbled, scrubbing with his hand. “Thanks.”

“My Granny woulda spat on a napkin and rubbed it off without warning.”

“My ‘Granny’.” He said the word awkwardly. “Would have sent me out of the room.”

“Bit of a dragon, eh?”

_Was that a step too far?_

But the Prince didn’t flinch. “Could say that,” he muttered, and swallowed more pizza. “So, what’s on TV?”

“Ah, your choice,” Atsumu said, and getting up, he handed over the remote before moving to the table. “I need to check emails.”

“Won’t your boss tell you off for not resting?”

“What Kita-san don’t know won’t hurt him … or me.”

He sat at the table, checked emails (there was nothing interesting) and replied to a message on his phone from ‘Samu.

**_< <Hey, not seen you for a while. RU ok?>>_ **

**< <I’m good. Busy, that’s all.>>**

Had it been that long? He didn’t think so, but he guessed it had been almost a month, apart from him calling in for food. Last time they’d met for a beer on one of Osamu’s rare evening’s off, shooting the breeze. ‘Samu had talked about a new menu he was considering, Atsumu had hinted at the big story he was working on. Then Suna had dropped in—supposedly by accident—and Atsumu had shut up, not wanting to give him any hints. Hearing the TV blaring into life, he watched Prince Shouyou wriggling on the beanbag to get comfortable.

“You can use the futon if that’s better,” Atsumu told him.

“Thank you. I’d like a drink.”

“Help yourself,” he muttered, frowning when he saw Samu’s message.

**_< <’Tarou said he came over to talk to you>>_ **

**< <I was out.>>**

**_< <Where?>>_ **

**< <Just out.>>**

**_< <Want to come over tonight? >>_ **

What was this? An olive branch, or another attempt by Suna to worm his source out of him?

**< <I’ll let you know. Kind of in the middle of something.>>**

**_< <Is this your big story? The one you were telling me about last time.>>_ **

What was this? A wind up? Was Suna fuckin’ Rintarou there waitin’ for the answer?

**< <Nope. Lover Boy took that from me. This is something bigger.>>**

**_< <Hey, I’m sure he didn’t take it!>>_ **

**< <How would you feel if I started going out with a rival onigiri maker?>>**

There was a pause. Atsumu put the phone down, clattering it on the table which caused Prince Shouyou to glance across from the fridge where he was pouring himself a glass of iced water.

The phone beeped.

“It’s ‘Samu,” he explained.

**_< <I’d primarily be concerned that you were eating crap instead of my food.>> _**Samu texted.

He couldn’t help smiling, even if he did want to snarl as well.

**_< <You work for the same paper>>_** Samu continued. **_< <You don’t have to be rivals. Besides, I thought you thrived on competition!>>_**

_With you, yeah,_ he thought _,_ and then the revelation struck _. Not for you._

**_< <So, will I see you tonight?>>_ **

**< <I honestly don’t know.>>**

**_< <Tarou won’t be here if that’s your problem>>_ **

**< <No it ain’t. I. Don’t. Know. Look I’ll text you.>>**

**_< <Promise>>_ **

**< <what is this?>>**

**_< <ur my brother. Im allowed to be concerned>>_ **

**< <about what>>**

**_< <Tarou’s got your story, right, so I guess you feel sore about that>>_ **

Prince Shouyou was settling onto the futon, slopping water down the front of his shirt as he laughed at a sitcom. An unguarded moment, one as unlike the public image of Royalty as Atsumu had ever seen. With one finger, Atsumu opened up a document. ‘Private Face of a Public Prince’

**_< <’TSUMU!!>>_ **

**< <No sweat, ‘Samu. I’ll call you soon, ‘k.>>**

He appeared to give up after that, either satisfied that his brother would call him, or else Suna had come in and Osamu couldn’t be bothered with him any more.

“Have you fought again?” piped up the Prince. “Only your face is as black as a thundercloud.”

“Naw, it’s nothin’. Get back to your show.”

Yawning, the Prince appeared satisfied, and after another sip of water, he propped himself up with a pillow, ostensibly to watch the show. But Atsumu watched as his eyelids drooped and soon not even the raucousness of the show could stop him from falling asleep.

Atsumu typed some notes, recalling everything that had happened since he met Prince Shouyou, and frequently clicked onto the news sites in case anything had been released. Kita emailed him, giving him the update from the Palace that the Prince was indisposed, but instead of assigning him something new, renewed his demand that Atsumu get some rest.

He typed harder after reading that, and thought wistfully of that moment of weakness when he’d let Ginjima have his glasses back.

Why hadn’t he borrowed them? Why had he thrown away the opportunity for more candid shots, for those unaware moments where the Prince looked anything but regal. No more photographs of that dazzling smile, instead he’d be rigid again, or as rigid as he was likely to be given the corners of his mouth didn’t droop at all, and there was a sparkle in his eyes that nothing seemed to dim.

Shaking his head, he decided not to puzzle it out.

_‘Prince Shouyou Hinata’_ he typed into his search engine and waited for whatever results came up.

There was a blanket statement from the Palace citing exhaustion and slight illness to the Prince’s absence. Atsumu yawned at the old news, and the lies that bound the system together. Of course, they’d be worried out of their minds, but not enough to let the mask drop and admit the heir was missing.

He flicked onto the next page, his eyes scanning every story, until he found one he’d not looked at properly.

There was a photograph of the Prince when he was a kid, a rare degree of freedom, it was a picture of him playing in the palace grounds with two other children. One, Atsumu recognised despite the years which had passed, as Yamaguchi Tadashi – the boy who’d been brought up and educated with Prince Shouyou. The other was a girl. He squinted at the name, wondering why it sounded familiar.

_Yachi Hitoka … oh_

Familiar by association, her mother, Yachi Madoka, ran one of the bigger publishing houses in country, and there’d been some recent stories about her daughter gaining top honours at University. Scanning the article, he realised they’d been associated with the royal family for a good many years, having a blood tie three generations back, and Madoka’s father having been an advisor to the late King.

He flicked onto some recent pictures of Hitoka. Sweetly pretty as a teenager, she’d developed her own sense of style since graduation, neither frilly nor ostentatious, formal but not stuffy.

There was a video clip of her emerging with her mother from a restaurant. Startled at the camera flash going off, nothing could hide the smattering of cutesy clips adorning her hair or the intelligence and apprehension in her eyes at being filmed.

“Looking forward to seeing Prince Shouyou again, Hitoka-chan?” one of the Tokyo reporters had asked.

“Of course,” she’d replied, then been bundled into a waiting car.

_Why would they ask her that?_

_Oh…. Are you the Shrimpette?_

But he couldn’t find any more stories, and any vague rumours about the Prince and his romantic relationships appeared to have died off when he’d left the country three years before.

Hitting a writing wall, Atsumu stared at the document and then did what Kita-san had once advised him, which was to stand up, roll his shoulders and find something to distract himself from the writing process.

_‘Ittori Eiji’_ he searched, checking to see if there had been any further rumblings. It appeared no other paper had picked up on the story, which caused a perverse feeling of displeasure to course through him. Perverse because while he didn’t want anyone else getting the story, he also didn’t want Suna claiming all the credit.

It was his story! The corruption he’d found, the proof he’d gathered and the confidence of his source were all things he’d nurtured. And, yeah, maybe the proof did need to be more concrete, but in his opinion there was enough to go on, and the hearsay could easily lead to more people coming forward.

The Minister for Housing had, Atsumu had been told, embezzled funds from a charity building project. The money had indubitably disappeared, but the link to the Minister had been tenuous—according to Aran—and Kita had agreed and vetoed the story. Or he’d vetoed Atsumu’s version.

And that stung. It still stung. He could have dug more, should have been given more time, but Kita had asked Suna to look into it instead. And handed him the fucking Royal flunkey gig instead.

_You’re jaded. Take time off._

HA! You weren’t expecting this though were ya, Kita-san! I have the fuckin’ royal prince here in my apartment currently asleep on my bed and eatin’ pizza. That’ll teach y’all for—

“Oh, why are you reading about him? Is he a client?”

Yikes! He turned swiftly almost bumping his head into Prince Shouyou’s as he leant over his shoulder. Then breathed with relief that the only tab visible was the page on Ittori.

“Um, not exactly. Maybe. I couldn’t work out where I remembered it from. Why? Do you know him?” he asked, and held his breath.

“He’s an _acquaintance_ of my father,” Prince Shouyou said slowly, “He was in Brazil last month.”

_Brazil?_

“Really?” A balancing act here between sounding as if this were of no consequence, but also interested enough that Prince Shouyou continued. “You met him?”

“No.” He shuddered a little. “Hmm, feels like someone’s walking over my grave. I _have_ met him, but it was years ago. Last month was different. I looked out of the house I was staying in and saw him.” He smiled. “Then I hid.”

“And … um … was your dad there? Was that why this guy was visiting?”

He shook his head. “He was probably on holiday. Tell me, is he likely to be a client?”

“Uh, maybe. Why?”

“Um, well, obviously it’s your business but my Grandmother thinks he’s ‘slippery’. She’s … um … harsh, but she’s perceptive.”

Interesting …

He wanted to question more, his journalist instinct rearing its reckless and ugly head, but a voice that sounded oddly like Kita-san told him to back off—just a little—because there were two stories here, two excellent stories, and if he pushed too much at this point, he’d lose the thread of both.

Besides, Prince Shouyou had flopped on the futon again and was watching television.

“Wanna drink? Or are you sleepin’ some more?”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was resting my eyes,” replied the Prince.

“Suuuure. I have beer. Or whatever.”

“Beer would be nice.”

Staring at the screen, Prince Shouyou waited until Atsumu had returned, carrying not just two small bottles of beer, but a bowl of crisps, which he put down in the middle of the bed.

“Mind if I join ya?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t matter.” He sat on the side of the bed, swung his legs onto it, and snuck a side glance at the Prince, who was looking blank, still appearing to watch the show, but not laughing any more. “You okay, Shrimpo?”

“Thinking about something.” He gave a sigh and turned his head meeting Atsumu’s eyes. “You were brave today.”

He blinked. “I was a dumbass who shoulda known his limits and not got stuck,” he mumbled, and fiddled with his hair.

“You didn’t panic. And you didn’t run.”

“Could hardly run. I’d have dropped.”

“Maybe.” He was brooding, sipping his beer out of the bottle, his eyes focused on the wall, until a breath of wind rattled at the window latch and he climbed off the bed to stare at the scene outside. “I ran from something,” he murmured. “And … I have to face it.”

“You’re going home?”

“Yes.” He’d exhaled against the glass, then traced the picture of a tree with his forefinger. And then he turned back, and although his smile wasn’t as wide, it still dazzled. “But not yet. I’d like to go out this evening, and then I’ll be on my way, and you won’t have to play tour guide.”

“We ain’t seen much,” Atsumu mumbled.

“And I’m grateful you haven’t asked any questions.” His lips twitched. “Except about the Shrimpette.”

“Ah… well…” Atsumu rubbed the back of his neck. “I was jus’ teasin’. You’re young, reasonable lookin’ – at least you ain’t _that_ ugly - ”

“Hey!”

“So I kinda thought there’d be someone you was either with or wanted to be with, an’ …” He sighed. “But things ain’t always the way they seem, right?”

Walking back to the bed, Prince Shouyou sat down, shooting Atsumu what could only be described as a sly look. “I could ask the same of you. I mean, you’re not totally hideous either, Atsumu-san. Where’s your … um … dryad?”

“Dry what now?”

“Dryad. They were nymphs who lived in trees in Ancient Greece. Like a kodama. Maybe she protected you today.”

“Ha.” He leant back on the bed, propping himself up with pillows, and reached across for some crisps. And all the while he was aware Prince Shouyou was watching him, not covertly, but with an open interest. “I think that was you,” Atsumu said at last. “Protectin’ me, I mean.”

“There isn’t anyone then?” the Prince asked.

“Jeez, you’re relentless. Nope. No. Nada. I’m too fuckin’ selfish for one thing, and too busy. I leave all that love stuff to ‘Samu.” He swigged more beer. “How d’you know all that ‘bout Ancient Greece?”

“Read some things.” He shrugged. “One of my friends used to have this book when we were young about myths and legends and we’d read it together. Although, it always seems to be about destiny and fighting monsters, which is a bit sad.”

“Is that what you got to back to? Monster fightin’?” He paused. “Or your … uh … ‘destiny’.”

“Changing it more like,” Prince Shouyou muttered. Then he shook his head vigorously. “Dryads had a much simpler life than heroes.”

“Borin’ though.”

“I don’t know. They could always count on Apollo to wander down from Olympus to seduce them.” He sipped more of his beer, a little too enthusiastically and was left catching drops with his tongue as it frothed over. “Or they’d fall for ‘not totally hideous’ mortals who dared to climb into their homes.”

The beer had splodged on his face, across his cheek hiding some of the freckles. “You’ve got foam,” Atsumu muttered.

“Huh?”

“Here…” He leant over and with his thumb removed the bubbles from the Prince’s nose and cheek. Aware his hand had slowed, he jerked away.”Sorry, I’m turnin’ into my Granny.”

“At least you didn’t spit into a napkin,” replied the Prince, his voice a touch high as he turned away, focusing back on the television screen. “Haaaa, this is funny.”

It was an advert. Puzzled, but not entirely upset the Prince had changed the subject, Atsumu gulped more of his beer, crunched some crisps and wondered a little more about the reasons his guest had run away. Facing destiny? Changing his destiny? Was that even possible? Did he want to stop being a Royal? Could he even do that?

‘ The Vacillations of the Sunshine Prince.’

_Jeez, it’s a helluva story._

_And it’s mine._

So why didn’t he feel more gleeful about it?

As they got ready to go out, Atsumu allowed himself a glimmer of amusement as the Prince tied himself in knots over not wearing his recognisable hoodie. Finally telling Atsumu he never felt the cold so wouldn’t need it, he shivered when they opened the front door, leaving Atsumu snorting into his hand.

“Borrow this if you want,” he said, throwing him a cherry red jacket. “Your other one still smells of beer.”

“Ah, thank you.” He pulled up the hood, making sure all his hair was covered and then added the sunglasses.

Deciding not to comment on the fact it was dark and he wouldn’t need them, Atsumu murmured something about how cool Shrimpo looked instead, grabbed his keys and wallet and closed the front door.

“Are we going back to the same place?”

“No, thought we’d go somewhere livelier,” Atsumu said smoothly. “It’s a bit further away though.”

“Um, how are we getting there?” Prince Shouyou asked, sounding a little worried. “Bus? Train? Only … um …”

Public transport and CCTV gives them more chances of findin’ him.

He tossed his keys into the air. “My bike good enough?”

The relief was palpable. Prince Shouyou gurgled a laugh and picked up his pace walking ahead of him. “Can I drive?”

“I don’t know? Can you?”

“Pardon?” He stopped abruptly and spun on the spot one-eighty degrees to face Atsumu. “Are you saying I can?”

“I’m askin’ if you’re capable. If you’re qualified and have a licence.”

“Yes, no and no,” Prince Shouyou replied. “Um, but the ‘yes’ is an ‘ish’. I’ve ridden scooters before.”

“Then I can’t let ya. Can’t risk us getting’ pulled over and losin’ my licence. Although…”

“What?”

Twirling the keys on his fingers, Atsumu chuckled. “You can sit up front with me behind ya, if you want? But I’m still in control. That okay?”

By sticking to back roads and avoiding the main streets as far as possible, Atsumu was sure he could avoid any trouble. He should be able to avoid any police this way, although he didn’t see any extra patrols when they did have to encroach on the busier roads. With both of them wearing helmets, there was nothing remotely recognisable about either of them, so there was no way he’d be stopped unless they did something reckless. So, resisting the urge to travel at his usual speed, Atsumu moulded himself behind Prince Shouyou and ensured he held tight onto the handlebars while the Prince leant forwards, clearly living some biker fantasy in the ride.

It was, however, a little disconcerting to Atsumu how well they fitted together on the bike, with no awkward arms getting entangled and Atsumu having a clear view over the Prince’s shoulder without having to twist.

Within thirty minutes, they were at their destination and he slowed up, pulling into a parking bay.

Unstrapping his helmet, Atsumu levered himself off the bike and waited. He waited for the Prince to register where they were, acutely aware that another sense might be assailed first.

The Prince removed his helmet, shook his hair and then almost immediately began to pull his hood up to cover the flames, but he stopped before completing the action and turned his head slowly from side to side.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“The muuuusic,” he breathed.

“OH … ha! I thought you were gonna go with the smell.”

He sniffed. “Mmm, that too. What’s cooking?”

“Lots of stuff. Barbecue, dango, mocha. We’ll take a look. I’m sure you’ll need to refuel real soon!”He took the helmets, stowing them in the bike box, then locked it up. “Know where we are?”

“Uh…” The Prince looked around. “Should I?”

“You were here only yesterday, so … yeah. But then again, despite insistin’ you were sober, you were dead to the world and sprawled on my bike.”

“I was not dead to the world!”

“You was asleep, Shrimpo! You accused me of comin’ into your bedroom.”

“Well … maybe I closed my eyes for a bit. It had been a long day and I was hiding—uh—”

Pretending he hadn’t heard, Atsumu changed the subject and with his hand on Prince Shouyou’s shoulder, he steered him towards a path. “So, it ain’t exactly a festival because that starts next week, but this is more of a pre-festival—like a rehearsal. There’s some traditional music, buskers, dancin’, market stalls and we might find rakugo if ya like that sort of stuff.”

“Do you?” Prince Shouyou asked.

“Um… yeah, I do. Maybe that’s surprisin’ but it’s kinda restful. So, where d’you want to start?”

“Just… watching,” Prince Shouyou murmured. “I want to take it all in, breathe it, taste it. Everything.”

“In one night. Okay!” Atsumu grinned and for some odd reason known only to his strange psyche, he stuck out his hand the way he used to with Osamu when they were kids.

And to his surprise, the Prince accepted it, sliding his smaller, warm hand into Atsumu’s and giving him a smile.

“Lead on, Atsumu-san!”

It felt … right, that was the one thing that occurred to Atsumu, but he gave his hand a squeeze, before relinquishing because surely the Prince didn’t want to be holding his clammy paw when they walked the streets. “Uh… Let’s go.”

The ‘pre-festival’ as Atsumu termed it was already alive as they rounded the corner. A juggler threw flaming batons in the air surrounded by a group of excited kid. Stalls sold crafts and souvenirs, others were selling beer and shots of sake. Grills smoked and spread their aromas across the street. People laughed, musicians played, one pair competing with each other in a battle of melodies, and all the while the Prince watched, utterly entranced.

“This is unreal,” he whispered.

“C’mon, ain’t you been in Brazil? Thought that was the land of the festival.”

“Um… not where I was,” he muttered, an edge to his voice. “And this is ... well … it’s smaller but everyone seems to love it.”

“Yeah, it’s more local. The main one is next week when they have a big firework display too in the park. That’s fun,” Atsumu told him, unable to keep the laugh out of his voice. “We used to come every year. It was one of the highlights.”

“You and your brother?”

“Uh-huh,” he replied. “Came with Granny a lot of years, but we’re both kinda busy now. And … it’s a kids’ thing, really.”

“Still fun, though. You’re allowed to enjoy it, Atsumu-san.”

“Mmm, I do.” He smiled down at him. “An’ I like seein’ it through your eyes, Shrimpo.”

They sidled past some of the stalls, Atsumu aware the Prince was not only looking at all the sights, but was watching out for any possible intrusion into this final night of freedom. There was a resignation mixed with the excitement, and as he sighed, almost inaudibly, Atsumu was consumed by the sudden urge to take his hand again, tug him away, and make their escape. They could hole up in his apartment for a bit longer, get to know each other. Maybe he could wait for the Prince to confess who he actually was, or perhaps he should be the one to share what he knew.

He shook his head. That was ridiculous. He had a story to write and the Prince had a role to fill.

“Want some dango?” he muttered, stopping by a stall. He pointed to the three coloured rice balls on a skewer, bought two and then handed one over.

“This is good,” said the Prince. And then he darted out into the centre of the street. “Atsumu-san, there’s the violinist from earlier. I should go and say—” He stopped, backed sharply away and in the process dropped the skewer of half-eaten dango on the road.

“Uh… you okay.”

“Hide me.”

“Huh?” He followed the direction of the Prince’s frightened gaze, saw the violinist, and then just behind her, in the shadows, two figures glowered.

The Crow Guard. Unmistakable. Head to toe in black, and quite stupidly obtrusive in the middle of the festival.

Asking no questions (because what the heck could he ask?) Atsumu grabbed Prince Shouyou’s arm, pulling him sideways and towards a darker alleyway. They broke into a jog until they reached a stack of wooden crates, where Atsumu stopped, tugging the Prince behind him.

“Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll check—” But as soon as he poked his nose out, he heard a thud of footsteps and a hiss of voices and he whipped back next to the Prince.

“THAT WAS HIM!”

“CHECK THE SIDE ROADS!”

“I should leave,” Prince Shouyou muttered.

“Do you want to?”

“I have to at some stage. It’s … _complicated_.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “But d’you want t’ go yet?”

He shook his head, then tilted his face up to the sky. “I want it to be on my own terms. I’m sorry, I really can’t expect you to get involved.”

“Hey, I am involved.”

“For all you know I could be a dangerous criminal.”

“One that knows karate and likes climbin’ trees,” Atsumu countered. Ears pricking, he pressed his finger to his lips. “Sssh, I hear something.”

“I will go If you’re found here then—”

“Stop that.” Atsumu stepped up to him, then with his hands on Prince Shouyou’s shoulders he pulled him close, enveloping him in his arms and jacket.

And it was dumb. If this had been a scene in a movie, Atsumu would have been throwing things at the screen by now, because it had always pissed him off when at moments of high tension the hero and heroine stopped to have a kiss or a shag, but as he stared down at the Prince, noticing his face lit by the stars and the moon shining out of his tremulous eyes, he dipped his own head, and pressed his mouth to Prince Shouyou’s temple.

“Jeez, I’m sorry!” He wrenched away.

Or tried to, but Prince Shouyou dragged him back, entwining his hands around Atsumu’s neck and standing on tip toe. Atsumu heard a catch of breath and then a low moan which couldn’t be sure hadn’t emanated from him, and then his mouth was on Prince Shouyou’s, a small peck at first, but softly and gently exploring and becoming deeper.

“HEY!” yelled a voice.

They broke apart, except not quite, Atsumu angling his body in front of the Prince looked over his shoulder to find himself being watched by the taller of the guards with the monk’s haircut—Tanaka Ryuunosuke. He was squinting, so maybe he couldn’t see that clearly, especially in the dark.

“Hey yourself!” he retorted. “This ain’t a spectator sport!”

“Uh…” Tanaka shuffled his feet, sticking his hands in the pocket, and if it hadn’t been dark, Atsumu would have bet his soul the guy was blushing. “Sorry to disturb you. Uh … you haven’t seen a short guy running past, have ya? Got red hair.”

“Nope. Not that I’ve been … uh … lookin’, kinda occupied here, my dude!”

Tanaka, casting another dubious glance, gave a sigh and broke into a run, heading back out to the street.

Hissing out a breath, Prince Shouyou collapsed into Atsumu’s chest. “Haaa, that was close.” He swallowed. “Thank you. I really should explain. You can’t get into trouble because of this, not when you’ve been so good to me.”

“Stop,” Atsumu whispered and traced the Prince’s lips with his fingertip.

“But you need to know who I am and why they’re coming after me.”

And now was the time of reckoning: either let the Prince continue and feign both shock and surprise, or ‘fess up and hopefully not have the Prince rage at him. He considered both options in a split second, but knew his acting skills would never hold up to scrutiny. “I already know,” Atsumu confessed. “Worked it out this mornin’, but … look, don’t worry, you c’n stick with me for as long as you need.”

“You know?” Prince Shouyou’s eyes narrowed. “Know what?”

“That you’ve run out on your family.” He licked his lips. “Your _Highness_.”

“Oh. Y-You do know.”

“Yeah, I do, but look, I ain’t told anyone,” he assured him, closing his mind to Gin’s face.

And then the footsteps pattered back down the street towards them, two pairs this time with a different voice (Nishinoya probably) shouting to Tanaka that it must have been him because there was no sign anywhere else.

Atsumu scanned the corner they were currently holed up in, checked out the wooden pallets, and squinted at the printed name on them, and then looking back at the wall, he noticed a black door, and he clicked exactly where they were.

“Do you want to go back with them?” he asked urgently.

The Prince shook his head. “You’ll get into trouble if they find you with me.”

“Then… do you trust me?”

Eyes large, he nodded without hesitation.

“Then, this way,” Atsumu whispered and digging into his pocket he pulled out his keys, fingering one he’d not used for a while.

“What are you doing?” Prince Shouyou demanded. “Are you breaking in?”

“I have a key. This ain’t illegal.”

“But what is this place?”

“You wanted to meet my brother, right?”

“What?”

Wrenching open the door, Atsumu hustled Prince Shouyou inside. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya, Your Highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more eagle eyed among you might have noticed that this was supposed to be four chapters, then five. I'm now hoping it'll be six. It won't be more than seven ... I hope.
> 
> There could be a delay with next week's chapter as I'm going away for a bit. Thank you, as always, for reading.


	6. Ahead of the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What does Prince Shouyou think you do?”  
> “Graphic artist.”  
> “What kind?”  
> “Uh… graphics.”  
> “Graphics!” Suna choked, and his customary mask of indifference broke into hilarity. “Jeez, do you ever do any research!”  
> "I was thinkin’ on my feet!” Atsumu exploded, gripping the chairs tight in the hope it would suppress the urge to hoopla them round Suna’s neck. “Anyway, if I agree to a truce, will you keep yer gob shut?”  
> “I will,” Suna agreed, with a small nod. “Your brother however is wetting himself in an attempt to get royal approval for his rice, so you might want to work on him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the late update, I was away for a week.
> 
> Enjoy!

Like the spice markets Osamu had been so entranced with all those years before, the Onigiri Miya storeroom had an aroma which pervaded their nostrils as soon as they entered. Atsumu closed the door hurriedly but with care behind them, and squeezed the Prince’s hand as they moved forwards.

“I can’t see anything,” Prince Shouyou whispered, and in that next second he tripped over something landing into Atsumu’s back. “Ow.”

“I’ll find the light switch. Hold on.” He felt across the wall with his palm.

“Who’s there?”

“’Samu, it’s me! You said t’ come round,” Atsumu replied, then as his fingers found the switch, he clicked the light on.

His brother, his twin—his best and worst friend—was in a corner, face flushed, and scrabbling for his trousers.

“’TSUMU!” Osamu yelled. “WHAT ARE YOU DOIN’ HERE?”

“Fuck NO!” Atsumu yelled back, and turning round, he shielded Prince Shouyou, not just from the unedifying site of his brother half naked, but also from the person currently pressed up against him. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT!”

“Hi there, Miya,” said the horribly familiar voice of Suna Rintarou, (and Atsumu knew he was smirking).

Mind now on overload, Atsumu pulled the Prince’s hood over his head, and stared down at him, hoping everything recognisable was hidden. “Look down,” he whispered. “We might have to find somewhere else t’ go.”

“Really, why?” Prince Shouyou asked, and side stepped him. He bowed slightly. “Good evening. I’m a friend of your brother. He’s told me a lot about you, Osamu-san.” His eyes flickered to Suna. “And you must be his partner.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me, too,” Suna replied and stepped forward, eyeing the Prince with amusement. “Got yourself a friend at last, Miya-kun?”

“Yeah…” He stepped in front of Prince Shouyou, thanking whatever deity that was in charge of light bulbs that the ones in this room were so gloomy. “Uh … we’re not stayin’. Jus’ needed a short cut.” He frowned. “Why ain’t you workin’?”

“Takin’ a break,” Osamu replied, and his face flushed again.

“And why the fuck is he here?” he demanded, jerking his thumb at Suna. “You said he wouldn’t be.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Suna replied, swivelling around to face Osamu. “News to me.”

“Well, maybe I’m sick of this tension and wanted you two to talk.”

“What were you gonna do. Lock us in the storeroom?” Suna scoffed.

“Naw, it’d cut him off from his food,” Atsumu retorted.

“Anyway,” Osamu breezed, now fully in control as he reached across to pick up a jar of coriander seeds. “We have company and I’m sure ‘Tsumu’s friend doesn’t want to hear any more tantrums from the pair of you.” He gave the Prince a smile and a bow. “It’s nice to meet you, um … sorry, what was your name?”

“Call him Shrimpo, if you must. Like I said, we ain’t stayin’.”

But of course the Prince had other ideas, especially as he was now inhaling the aromas in the storeroom and the faint scents from the kitchen up the stairs.

“Something smells good,” he said, his eyes dreamy. He stepped up to Osamu. “Atsumu-san says I can trust you, and I trust him, so …”

“Don’t do this!” Atsumu warned.

But it was too late, as the Prince whipped off his hood revealing the unmistakable halo of sunshine orange hair. “My actual name is Shouyou… Hinata Shouyou.”

“OMIGOD! You’re … P-P-Prince Shouyou,” Osamu yelped, his jaw comically cartoon-like as it dropped open. “Whoa… that’s … Yer _Highness_ , this is so unexpected. This is… do you … uh … let me make you somethin’ t’ eat. An’ I’ll find you our best table.” Speaking nineteen to the dozen, accent thickening, his eyes lit up, cash signs, probably, as he began to calculate how much a royal endorsement would increase his sales.

“Well, I’d love to sample some of your onigiri, but we are … um … here incognito, so…” The Prince bestowed his wide sunshine smile on Osamu. From the sidelines, Atsumu gulped then breathed in relief as his brother appeared similarly dazzled and began to bow again.

“Well, fuck me,” Suna murmured “So this is your big st—”

“Shut it,” Atsumu hissed.

Suna raised his eyebrows, the cogs in his mind whirring and he gave the slightest of grins. “Oh ho ho. Little Princeling doesn’t know who you are, does he? What’s it worth?”

“How ‘bout me not shoving my fist down yer throat?” 

“The way to trap wasps is to use honey, not vinegar, Miya-chan,” Suna murmured. “And I might be the nastiest wasp you’ve ever met.

He knew that. But now was not the time. Why it mattered when Prince Shouyou discovered the truth, he didn’t know, but in the Prince’s words, Atsumu wanted it to be on his own terms. So he swallowed down the bile and sucked up his attitude. “Suna, please, don’t say nothin’ yet.”

“Then,” Osamu was saying, “How about I set out a table in here, and I’ll bring you some food, yer highness? And drinks, yer highness and also… ‘Tsumu, go and get some chairs for his highness!” He scowled. “You too, ‘Tarou. QUICKLY!”

And despite the tension rippling between himself and Suna, Atsumu couldn’t stop the laughter bursting from his lips as his brother tied himself in knots around having actual royalty in his establishment. (Next to him, Suna was snorting, but he ignored that.)

“Hey, Shrimpo,” Atsumu catcalled. “You okay sittin’ on a wooden chair, or do ya need a special plump cushion edged with gold brocade?”

“I’m happy in a tree, Atsumu-san,” he replied warmly, then turned to Osamu. “Please don’t put yourself out. We’re inconveniencing you, after all. And please, drop the ‘Highness’ stuff.”

“You see,” Suna continued in undertone, as the pair of them fetched the chairs and a table, “The Sunshine Prince is not going to be at all pleased when he finds out the truth. Maybe he’ll have you beheaded, or thrown in a garret for treason.”

“What do you want? My source on the Ittori story? You want that?”

Suna raised his hands to his lips as if about to pray. “That would have been good, but … I hate to say this, you really have outdone yourself with this scoop. So… I don’t know … yet.” He licked his lips. “How about for now, we call a truce for Osamu’s sake? We can discuss the rest later.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why you bein’ nice?”

“Because I can’t see any advantage to being a shit at the moment,” Suna laughed. He picked up the table, leaving the two folding chairs to Atsumu. “What does Prince Shouyou think you do?”

“Graphic artist.”

“What kind?”

“Uh… graphics.”

“Graphics!” Suna choked, and his customary mask of indifference broke into hilarity. “Jeez, do you ever do any research!”

“I was thinkin’ on my feet!” Atsumu exploded, gripping the chairs tight in the hope it would suppress the urge to hoopla them round Suna’s neck. “Anyway, if I agree to a truce, will you keep yer gob shut?”

“I will,” Suna agreed, with a small nod. “Your brother however is wetting himself in an attempt to get royal approval for his rice, so you might want to work on him.”

“Such a cynic!” Atsumu scoffed.

“Comes with the job, you know that,” Suna retorted. “Hey, ‘Samu, where do you want this table?”

“In the corner … uh … no …” He faintly blushed which was enough to make Suna snort and Atsumu cringe as the picture of what had been going on it that corner before they’d burst in flashed through everyone’s mind.

Except the Prince, who appeared to be clueless. “You don’t have to go to this trouble,” he declared when Osamu started fussing over a table cloth.

“It’s no trouble.”

“You don’t even have tablecloths!” Suna scoffed. He lounged against the wall, watching the Prince, his eyes flickering to Atsumu and back. “So, how did you meet? Did you need a graphic designed?”

Prince Shouyou, now sipping water, accepted with relish a sample plate of onigiri which Osamu had rushed to get from the kitchen, then paused to answer. “Something like that,” he muttered and bit into the onigiri, licking around his lips as the fatty tuna oozed. “Wow, this is good! You and Ginjima-san were wrong, Atsumu.”

“You’ve met Gin? Is that Ginjima Hitoshi?” Suna queried, his eyes boring into Atsumu’s head.

“Yeah, ‘Toshi came over. What’s it to you?”

“They both liked my eggs,” Prince Shouyou continued, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent as he smiled at Osamu. “But they must have been being kind because I’m not on a par with you, Osamu-san. How do you make these? So moist!”

“Uh… well. It’s kinda in the mix and mouldin’ and … uh … the quality of the ingredients and the temperature and the rice stickiness and … um …”

“My brother’s real eloquent,” Atsumu stage-whispered, helped himself to an onigiri and lounged back in the other chair, enjoying this oasis of normality.

“He’s better hands on,” Suna put in, flexing his fingers.

He jerked back up. “UGH! Will you shut—”

“I could show ya!” Osamu interrupted, pushing Suna away. “But … uh … it would have to be later. My staff are here and … um …” He paused to compose himself. “Yer Highness … uh … Prince Shouyou, why are you here? Why anonymously and what the heck are you doin’ with my brother?” His eyes widened. “Ohhhh, is this a—”

“Think Prince Shouyou just fancied some time away,” Suna cut in smoothly. “Atsumu was just telling me all about it.”

“An’ I had time off from the _graphics_ company, so I was showin’ him around,” Atsumu added, willing his cheeks not to redden. If ever he needed twin telepathy to work it was now.

Osamu blinked. “Oh… right. Yes, I see. This is … um … I’ll get more food. And drink. Yes, anyone want beer or sake? I have whisky. Nice shot of whisky?”

“My brother’s a bit jumpy,” Atsumu said, watching as Osamu legged it to the kitchen. “Apart from one or two volleyball players who eat here, he ain’t used to celebrities.”

“Ah, I see.” The Prince munched on the rest of the onigiri savouring each flavour before licking his fingers. “That was so good. Suna-san?”

“Mmm.”

“I know you don’t know me at all, but I hope I can trust you too.”

“Oh… suuuure.”

“What do you do? Are you a chef like Osamu?”

“Me? No, I can’t cook a bean. I’m a—”

Atsumu could practically see the confusion and leant back again, enjoying Suna’s sudden discomfort.

“One of the volleyball players,” Suna said swiftly. “That’s how we met. Coming in here after a match. Eating his food.”

_Oh, not bad. Approximately half a second had passed before he thought that up._

“Really? Well, you are tall enough. Who do you play for?”

“Jackals,” Suna said hurriedly. The local team. The only one he knew, and that was only because Oomimi-san had a fondness for them.

“Tell him what position you play, Suna,” Atsumu said, almost crying because Suna had always feigned indifference to the sport.

“Middle Spiker,” Suna said, with no hint of hesitation.

“Middle Spiker?” Prince Shouyou blinked. “Have the rules changed?”

“I mean Blocker.” Suna rasped. “You have me a little tongue tied, your highness.”

“You’re _so_ good at thinkin’ on your feet, ain’t ya?” Atsumu muttered in an aside, and began to snort.

Prince Shouyou continued to eat, commenting now with appreciative sighs and low moans when he found something particularly tasty.

“So…” Suna asked. “You’re hiding from something, are you?”

“You don’t need to answer that,” Atsumu warned.

“It’s fine.” Prince Shouyou dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “I wanted some time off and to explore anonymously. Atsumu-san has very kindly been helping me.”

“How altruistic of him,” Suna hissed.

“It is, isn’t it!” the Prince replied, beaming.

“And you’re hiding from someone right now, are you?”

“Mmm, but not for long. I’ll return tonight…” He glanced across to Atsumu, peeping from under his lashes. “Or maybe tomorrow morning.”

_Oh … Ohhhhhhh. Wh-why is he lookin’ at me like that?_

“Uh… yeah… sure.” Did his voice have to squeak like that? He cleared his throat, avoiding Suna’s amused eyes. “Yeah, sure. All we need t’ do is stay ahead of the game.”

There was a crash from upstairs, not one Atsumu would have given a second thought to because in the normal run of things pans dropping on the floor, or implements clattering on work counters were the normal sounds from Osamu’s kitchen. But this time the crashing continued and what was different was Osamu’s yelp.

“HEY HEY! WHAT IS THIS?”

“YOU WERE IN THE ALLEY!”

“WHEN?”

“JUST NOW! MY FRIEND SAYS HE SAW YOU. WHERE IS HE?”

“WHO?”

“DON’T PLAY GAMES. I SAW YOU THERE!”

“I WORK HERE. THIS IS MY PLACE. I’M ALLOWED TO BE IN THE ALLEY. OW, THAT’S MY ARM!”

“Jeeeeez,” Atsumu hissed. “It’s your guards.”

“Who?” Suna had stopped lounging against the wall and was making his way to the corridor.

“WE’RE GONNA TEAR THIS PLACE APART AND ARREST YOU IF YOU DON’T TELL US—” One of the Crow Guards threatened and soon the three of them could hear plates smashing on the floor, and the shrieks of customers as they fled.

“Holy shit!” Atsumu barrelled after Suna, looking back to Prince Shouyou. “I can’t let my brother get arrested. They mus’ think he’s me.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” Suna snapped. “Get up there. Sort this out.”

“I will … Shrimpo … uh … your Highness. I’m gonna hafta go. Look they might arrest me too, but ya could sneak out the back way, no problem.”

“NOT THE DONOBE! THAT WAS GRANNY’S!”

Atsumu barged past Suna, racing to the stairs, but from the storeroom, Prince Shouyou ran, charging after and then overtaking him to reach the kitchen and the shop first.

He stood in front of them, his presence at once stopping both guards in their tracks. “If you break that donabe, Nishinoya, then despite the fact you’ve worked for me for five years, I will personally fire you from the Crow Guard!” the Prince commanded. “Do you really want that disgrace?”

“Y-your Highness,” whispered Tanaka. “You _are_ here. Are you hurt? Where’s this guy been keeping you? In his kitchen?”

“This ‘guy’,” Prince Shouyou replied, eyes merciless as he jerked his thumb at Osamu, “has not been keeping me anywhere. I have only just this moment met him. I will come with you now on condition you clear this place up, and pay Osamu-san for the damages.”

“But I saw him in the alleyway,” Tanaka insisted.

“Not me,” Osamu retorted, and wriggled free, then stood hands on hips glaring down at them both. “I’ve been here all evening.”

“I don’t know what or who you saw, Tanaka,” Prince Shouyou continued, his voice more formal than Atsumu recognised, “but I walked in to try some of these delicious onigiri and on recognising who I was, Osamu-san kindly offered me a little bit of privacy.”

“B-but where have you been?” Tanaka asked, pleading a little. “We was worried.”

“There was no need. I am well, have not been kidnapped and am agreeing to go back with you now.” He turned to Osamu. “Please send a bill to the royal household, and I ask you accept my sincere apologies for the damage my guard have done.”

From his position in the corridor, peeking through the crack in the door, Atsumu watched his brother fighting between fury at the guards and the Prince’s commanding yet emollient manner. He blinked as if dazed. “Uh… sure.”

“I coulda sworn,” Tanaka muttered, then sighed and bowed low to Osamu. “Sorry, you honestly looked like some guy in the alley, and I didn’t think he was alone, and …” He tilted his head to the side, clearly puzzled. “You must have a doppelganger, Miya-san.”

“Yeah, he has!” Nishinoya, having placed the donabe back on the counter was staring at something on the wall, something which made Osamu flush a bit, and the Prince swallow.

Atsumu peeked around the door, and his insides dropped.

“This is you,” Nishinoya said and jabbed his finger on a photograph, next to the menu board, “and this person, eating your onigiri, is …” He tailed off, looking even closer, and whistled. “Well, who do we have here? I knew you looked familiar, but there was something not quite right about it. Ryuu, come here.”

“Uhm, let’s just go,” the Prince said, his voice rising a little.

“Huh…” Tanaka studied the photo. “That’s the one I saw in the alleyway. Yeah, he was blond. So, they’re twins, right?” He swivelled to the Prince. “Where is he?”

“I don’t have to tell you,” Prince Shouyou said. “Everything is fine. I’m fine. There’s been no kidnap and I’m coming back with you now.”

“Yes, you are,” Nishinoya replied. “But… we still need to talk to him. Ryuu, look closer. Remember?”

“Ohhh, yeah and—” He slapped his forehead. “And that explains why that frickin’ photographer was hanging around in the park.”

“Of course!”

“They were in it together!”

“In what?” asked the Prince, rubbing his hair as his eyes darted from his guards to the door Atsumu and now Suna were hiding behind.

“The kidnap, of course.”

“There was no kidnap!”

“Ginjima Hitoshi,” Nishinoya continued, not listening. “Just because I deleted his photos, he pulls this stunt, and—”

“There was no stunt. What are you talking about? What photos?”

A tug from Suna on his sleeve caused Atsumu to turn his head slightly.

“What?”

“Go now. Sneak out the back door. They’ll find you otherwise.”

“No.”

“You can’t hide here,” Suna warned. “They’re already as suspicious as fuck, and—”

“No,” Atsumu insisted. His mind vaulting into overdrive, he shook off Suna’s arm and stepped through the door. “Hey.”

“Atsumu!” Prince Shouyou rasped. “Go. Go now. Everything is fine.”

“Do you really have no idea who this guy is?” Nishinoya asked.

“He is a kind stranger who took me in when I was lost,” the Prince breezed. “Now, shall we go.” He glanced at Atsumu. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Miya-san.”

“Your Highness!” Tanaka protested. “We can’t just let this go. This guy is … he’s …”

“What? Spit it out!” Prince Shouyou ordered, sounding imperious.

“Uh…” Atsumu stepped closer, swallowing. “What they’re tryin’ to tell ya, and what I guess I shoulda done is that I’m not a graphic designer but a journalist.”

“Huh?”

“I work for the Inarizaki Herald,” he muttered, holding the Prince’s gaze.

“Not just a journalist,” Nishinoya put in. “He’s a muck-raker, always looking for scandal.”

“Hey, I’m an Investigative Reporter!” Atsumu yelled. “I don’t ‘muck-rake’.”

Prince Shouyou looked away, staring out of the window as he took a breath. On the exhale, when he swivelled back, his expression was weary, a faint creasing of his brow and a thinness to his lips. “I’m a story.” No question, but a statement.

“Uh … sort of … you… look, I meant what I said about not realisin’ who you were at first.”

“But when you did…” He took a breath, squaring his shoulders. “Tanaka, Nishinoya, is the car here? I would like to go now.”

“Shrim—uh, yer highness, Prince Shouyou… it weren’t like that!” Atsumu pled.

“And Ginjima-san’s a photographer.” The Prince gave a small smile, watery and thin, drooping before he got to the door. “Thank you for the food, Osamu-san.”

“Ryuu, take the Prince to the car,” Nishinoya said softly. “I’ll … um … start to clear up, then come back, okay?”

Guiding the Prince outside, Tanaka looked back over his shoulder gave Nishinoya a sharp nod, and then escorted the Prince across the street and to a waiting car.

“Right, so what are we gonna do with you then?” Nishinoya began and squared up to Atsumu.

“Uh, you really think you can take me on,” Atsumu scoffed. “I gotta be twice your size and—” He gave a sudden yell as Nishinoya grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back “OW! Get off me, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Really?” Nishinoya paused, but didn’t slacken his hold as Tanaka strode back in. “You see I’m not buying this ‘kind stranger’ story. You … kind? I’ve read your stuff, Miya. In my game, we gotta keep ahead of the scum and dross like you trying to make a packet out of the Prince. You’re not remotely _kind_.”

“Come on! I gave him a bed for the night and took him on an unofficial tour of Hyogo. Where’s the harm?”

Tanaka was staring at him. “Miya Atsumu is on the roster for the Royal visit, Yuu.”

“Is it?” Nishinoya gave a slow blink. “You didn’t tell us that.”

“Why would I?”

“Was this all part of the plan?” Tanaka demanded. “We wondered why you was on the list, being that you’re this hotshot journalist, but now we know.”

“Kidnap the Prince, write a story. Front page scoop for days and months to come!” Nishinoya finished.

“No, that’s not what happened. I did not kidnap the Prince. He said that himself!”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Nishinoya said, _sounding_ wise.

“For fucks sake, he was with me one night and a day!” Atsumu shouted.

“Stockholm syndrome takes months!” Osamu put in, stepping over to take Nishinoya’s arm and try to free Atsumu. “Look, my brother hasn’t actually done anything wrong, nor broken any laws, so … if you let him go, then I’ll forget about the damages and you don’t even have to clear up.”

“You were probably in on it, too,” Nishinoya snapped.

“Was he?” Tanaka scratched his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“He could tell everyone. We’ll arrest them both!”

“WHAAAAAAT!”

“I ain’t tellin’ anyone anythin’,” Osamu tried to reason, and dodged Tanaka. “C’mon, you got my word on that.”

“And your word is worth what?”

“Okay…” He moved around the centre counter, grasping the donabe. “I swear on Granny’s donabe that I won’t tell another soul what’s happened here. It’ll be jus’ between us …” His eyes flickered to the right and the door—the open door—to the corridor, “between all of us here … an’ the Prince.”

“Nope, doesn’t wash,” Nishinoya snarled. “Ryuu, we’re taking both of them in.”

At that, Atsumu reacted. Hoping to flip Nishinoya to the ground, he crouched down causing Nishinoya to stagger, but even though he rolled to the ground, he took Atsumu with him.

“RUN, ‘SAMU!” he screamed at his brother. “RUN! THIS IS MY MESS!”

“I ain’t leavin’ ya,” Osamu fumed.

“TELL … TELL SHINSUKE, WILL YA! NOW RUN!”

With the mention of Kita’s name, Osamu needed no further inducement and vaulted to the open door, Tanaka hot on his heels. And Tanaka was fast, but not only did he not know the layout of the place, but hadn’t counted on someone lurking in the corridor sticking his leg out to trip him up.

“HEY!” Tanaka yelled. “ WHERE D’YOU COME FROM? YOU JUST AIDED A CRIMINAL!”

“Ah, you got me,” said Suna wandering through and flexing his fingers. “Sorry about that.”

“We’ll take him in,” Nishinoya declared.

“Hey, no!” Atsumu began. “Look, this guy had nothin’ to do with anything. I don’t even know who he is!”

“Give it up, Atsumu-kun,” Suna replied. “The Crow Guard have got us ‘banged to rights’. I’m Atsumu’s partner.”

“UGHH! NO, HE AIN’T!”

“Work colleague.”

“You are?” Tanaka peered closer. “Nope, don’t recognise you.”

Atsumu snorted. “See, no one knows you.”

“I do. He’s the really sneaky one,” Nishinoya answered.

“Ha, see,” Suna hissed. “I’m the _really_ sneaky one!”

“Shut yer mouth!”

“Sumo-something?” Nishinoya offered.

“Hahahaaaaaaa!” guffawed Atsumu. “Yeah, that’s Sumo-kun!”

“Suna Rintarou,” Suna retorted, through gritted teeth.

Gripping Atsumu even harder, Nishinoya pulled out a radio with his other hand, and fired off an order. “Second car here, immediately. Tanaka and I will go back with the Prince, but we need to detain two miscreants.”

The second car came to a screeching halt in less than a minute, and after bundling both of them in the back seat, flanked by two hefty guards, Atsumu watched as the Crow Guard nonchalantly strolled to the Prince’s car and got in. Nishinoya took the front, Tanaka the back, but once the doors were closed, Atsumu couldn’t see anything else through the blackened windows. He wondered if the Prince was watching, whether he saw them both being taken away, and if he’d speak up for him.

But the betrayal had clearly cut deep, the look in his eyes when he’d discovered Atsumu’s true identity had been proof of that. The smile had hardened, and the gold light in his eyes had dimmed.

“Think Osamu got away?” Suna murmured.

“Yeah, he’s smart.” Rubbing his wrist where Nishinoya had twisted it in a vice of a grip, Atsumu frowned. “Why didn’t you go with him?”

“And miss all this fun? Scoop of the century and I want to be at the heart of it, Atsumu- _chan_.”

“Pfft, in your dreams.”

The car started up, the driver barely offering them a glance, instead talking to the two meatheads.

“Where to? Local cop shop?”

“Nope,” said the first goon. “Nishinoya-san said that’d be too easy. We need somewhere no one will look and try to spring them.”

“Ain’t that against our civil liberties?” Atsumu demanded, a slight panic waving in his gut.

“You ain’t got no liberties, civil or otherwise,” snapped the second goon. “This was s’posed to be an easy detail, but now I’m missin’ out on my wife’s apple pie, ‘cause you pissed off the Prince and the Crow Guard.” He unwrapped a stick of gum and began to chew. “Abe, sector thirteen, that’s where we’re heading.”

“Rightio,” said Abe, the driver, and took a sharp left.

“Which is where, exactly,” Suna drawled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually, yes. That’s why I asked.”

“Don’t be smart,” Atsumu warned under his breath.

“Sector thirteen,” replied the first goon, clearly enjoying sharing his knowledge, “is going to be your home until the Prince leaves Hyogo.”

“Would ya give him a message from me?” Atsumu asked, tapping Abe on the shoulder. “Like, you could radio their car, couldn’t ya?”

“He won’t want to hear from you,” Abe yawned. “Yachi Hitoka has arrived at the Palace and he’ll be busy greeting her.”

“Yachi Hitoka?” Suna raised his eyebrows. “Madoka-sama’s daughter? Why’s she here?”

“Wow, for a couple of journalists, you really are out of the loop,” sniggered Goon One.

“I’m a proper journalist, not a gossip column hack,” Atsumu snarled. “But, yeah, I know they’re friends—good friends from childhood.”

“Word is, Prince Shouyou’s goin’ to announce his engagement to her,” explained Goon One. “That’s what all this fuss and tour is about. We ain’t had a royal wedding for years. Wonder if they’ll hold it here?”

“Shut up!” ordered Goon Two, scowling. “We’re not s’posed to know any o’ this.”

Involuntarily, Atsumu touched his mouth, feeling a sting as if instead of kissing him, Prince Shouyou had bitten his lips instead.

_Engagement?_

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes ... well ... one more chapter, it seems, so it will be 7 instead of 4 which co-incidentally is Atsumu's jersey number when we first see him, so that must have been the plan all along ...


	7. Dungeon Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sighing, Suna leant against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “You’re a reckless fool, Miya. If you’d been alone in that car, you’d have talked yourself into escaping. And I really didn’t want to attend your funeral.”  
> “Woulda been family and friends only,” Atsumu muttered. “You’re neither.”  
> “C’mon, I’m practically family,” he sniggered, dodging out of the way as if Atsumu was about to throw a punch.   
> “I ain’t stupid enough to jump outta speedin’ car,” Atsumu said, glowering.   
> He waggled his hand. “Maybe not, but for all I knew those goons would have chucked you out at high speed. One random journalist dead in a hedge could be classed as an accident, but two is highly suspicious.”

As a dungeon went, it was reasonably habitable. No damp, the brick walls were painted white, there was a mattress on the floor, a sturdy wooden chair in the corner and a grim plastic bucket which Atsumu didn’t want to contemplate using. And there was a distinct lack of rats, apart from the one now laid out on the mattress.

“Do they have so many detainees that we have to share a cell?” Atsumu complained, and banged on the door. “Hey, can’t you move him somewhere else?”

Suna yawned. “I imagine they think we’ll talk. The cell’s probably bugged.”

“WE NEVER TALK!” Atsumu yelled to the ceiling, scanning for any sign of a camera. “I DEMAND MY OWN CELL!”

“Maybe it’s ‘Samu’s idea,” Suna said idly and stretched up to sitting. “Get us together in a room with no escape and we’ll find some common ground.” He clicked his teeth. “The trouble with common ground is that we have a field of it but don’t want to share.”

“What are you talking about?” Atsumu asked, feeling along the walls.

“The job for one thing,” Suna replied. “And your brother. Jeez, please don’t tell me you’re looking for a secret passageway?”

“It was you who said they might be listenin’ in.”

“But we’re not talking so what does it matter?” Suna replied, sounding extremely bored. “But you could be right.”

The concession bothered him, especially when Suna got off the mattress and joined him at the wall.

“Is there something you want to discuss?” he whispered.

Miming taking a photograph, Atsumu waited for Suna to realise, adding in a whisper, “I don’t know if they’ll pick him up.”

“I texted him while you were fighting with that short-arse guard. They know he was in on it, but at least this way he’s got a head start.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu murmured and broke away. “How long d’you reckon they’ll keep us here?”

“Either until the Prince has left so you can’t cause trouble or until Kita-san finds us and kicks up a stink.” He paused to consider. “Of course, our inestimable editor might decide you deserve to be here and leave us languishing. I’m collateral damage, after all.”

“Oh come on, this is hardly my fault.” Suna stared at him, then snorted. “Okay, so it is my fault, but you’d have done exactly the same!”

“Which was what exactly,” Suna asked casually.

Far too casually. Atsumu turned away. “Like I’d tell you.”

“But you’d tell Kita-san, and maybe that’s what you should have done in the first place.”

“And have him tell me to turn the Prince in to the police.”

“You _should_ have had a back up. Like a paper trail. The way Prince Shouyou looked at you when he left, you’re the last person he’s going to defend. Add in the pressure from the Palace, and you, Miya, are in the shit.”

“Is that why you didn’t escape with ‘Samu, jus’ t’ see me squirm?” Atsumu spat.

Suna gave a reluctant laugh, as if about to tell a joke he knew was tired. “I meant to, but after tripping up the guard, he kind of blocked the exit, so I thought I’d surrender gracefully.” He straightened his shirt. “And stylishly. Also …” Clearly about to say something he thought better of it and gave his lopsided tiny smirk instead.

Atsumu stared. Waiting. Not pressing, yet still unrelenting. “Also?” he queried at last.

Sighing, Suna leant against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “You’re a reckless fool, Miya. If you’d been alone in that car, you’d have talked yourself into escaping. And I really didn’t want to attend your funeral.”

“Woulda been family and friends only,” Atsumu muttered. “You’re neither.”

“C’mon, I’m practically family,” he sniggered, dodging out of the way as if Atsumu was about to throw a punch.

“I ain’t stupid enough to jump outta speedin’ car,” Atsumu said, glowering.

He waggled his hand. “Maybe not, but for all I knew those goons would have chucked you out at high speed. One random journalist dead in a hedge could be classed as an accident, but two is highly suspicious.”

“An’ you thought of all that as you was trippin’ up the guard?” Atsumu scoffed. “Or is that the story you’ll tell yerself ‘n my brother.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suna said and waved his hand in the air. He walked away, sitting back on the single futon. “One thing, Miya, do you hate me because I’m good at my job, or because I’m with Osamu? Don’t bother answering. I don’t give an actual fuck about your opinion of me,” he muttered, but sounded as if he were seething. Then he stopped to inhale, collected his thoughts as he cracked his knuckles. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Or not speak at all.”

“We could do that. Or we could make the most of this confinement and—”

“Plan an escape?” Atsumu asked, eyeing up the bricks. “You don’t have a spoon and a Rita Heyworth poster on you then.”

“Huh?” Suna blinked. “That was almost humour, Atsumu. No, I was going to say we could talk about the story.”

“Not if they’re listenin’ in, dumbass.”

“Not this story, but that one. The other story we have a connection to,” Suna replied slowly. “The … _property_ story?”

“I know what you’re on about, so stop winkin’ at me. You ain’t gettin’ my source.”

“’Cuz you gettin’ stuck here is really going to break the story, ain’t it?” Suna mocked, thickening his barely-there accent. He paused and reverted back to the softer modulated tone he adopted professionally. “Look, Miya. I’m not looking for glory, but if that guy is as corrupt as you say, then he needs exposing. Maybe the pair of us can do that. Two heads, and all that!” He clicked one more knuckle. “Or is it just the glory you’re after?”

Stung, Atsumu punched the door. “HEY, GET ME MY LAWYER!”

“Ahhh, I’m right. Anything for that solo by-line, right?”

“NO! BUT WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I SHARE WHEN I’VE DONE ALL THE FUCKING WORK?” His hand was hurting and looking down he could see a scrape across his knuckles, blood beginning to ooze from where he’d slammed it into the wall. He waited for the guard, but when none came, he turned back to Suna. “Why d’you want to share, anyway? Don’t you want the story for yourself?”

“Sure, but I recognise both my talents and limitations.”

“Huh?”

“You, Miya, are exceptionally good at setting up a story. You have a nose for sniffing out a scandal.”

“But?” There was always a but where Suna was concerned.

“You run with the story.”

“But…”

“And sometimes you run too fast and trip over your feet.”

“Ain’t you getting’ clever with yer analogies,” Atsumu snapped.

“You have an _instinct_ for news and scandal, far more than I do. But …” He smiled, more to himself than to Atsumu. “But you charge on regardless and don’t tire, whereas I’m always looking for a different way through.”

“A shortcut.”

“No,” he replied, or rather retorted, sounding sharp. “A different approach. There _are_ no shortcuts merely certain steps can be taken at a quicker pace.”

He sounded like Kita. Atsumu still wanted to hit him.

Yawning, Suna lay back and closed his eyes. “Anyway, short of firing you, Kita-san can’t force you to turn over your notes to me. Even if he did fire you, it’s your property. I’m not sure what he expected you to do, so forget it. I might not have your innate instinct, but I will always find an angle.”

True enough. He was twisty enough, always finding a way through. A story he’d written last year on drugs in sport, had wriggled around the usual suspects of steroids, instead focusing on pain relief, and dependency, which had in turn created a crack resulting in a deluge of similar stories and the outing of one dodgy doctor in particular.

“I don’t have your tenacity, mind you,” Suna was saying.

“That tennis story was pretty good,” Atsumu conceded.

He acknowledged the compliment with a brief flicker of his eyelids. “Your brother got me onto that, you know.”

“Huh?” He blinked and started forwards.

“I mean he gave me the idea, not the story, before you start muttering over disloyalty or whatever garbage is going through your head.”

“I—” he started to deny but Suna forestalled him, dismissing the protests with a flick of his wrist.

“We were watching a match and I mentioned something about drugs on the circuit and how it’s always there, but everyone’s in denial, then a few points later, when they were changing ends, one of the players started rolling one shoulder—as if it were stiff or he was in pain—and ‘Samu started to flex his wrists, you know that thing he does when he’s preparing to make a batch, right?”

Atsumu nodded.

“So I asked if he was in pain, but he said he wasn’t it was just about stretching and the importance of taking breaks, and that the thing with him was that he could make onigiri whenever he wanted and take his time with it, but pro tennis players had to perform at that moment whether they felt right or not, and…” He grinned. “He got a bit longwinded at that point and started to talk about different fillings and steaming the rice, and although I was listening and my mouth was watering, half my brain was focusing on pain medication and how you could hardly take a break if you had a big game coming up.

“The guy won his match, but played another match later that day—mixed doubles—and when he was serving, a ligament ripped in his shoulder. If he’d retired from that tournament, he might have been rested enough to take part in the next one, but as it was …”

“He’s out for the rest of the season, yeah I remember. And my brother inspired all this, is that what yer tellin’ me?”

“He was a sounding board, and set me on the path to look at the drugs from a different perspective—the pressure to continue, pain meds and what that can lead on to. Some of those coaches and agents don’t give a damn.”

“’Samu never said.”

“You expect him to?”

“No…but…” _It’s me,_ he wanted to say. _I’m his brother. We have each other’s backs. We always have._

“He’s loyal,” Suna said bluntly. “But that doesn’t make him underhand. He’s not ‘your man’. Miya.” There was a breath, and then he continued in a lighter tone. “And he doesn’t spill any of your secrets either, even when I beg.”

“I don’t want to know ‘bout any o’ that,” Atsumu muttered and returned to staring at the door. “HEY! IS ANYONE THERE?”

“We’ve been here three hours,” Suna said. “They’re not going to let us go that easily. Four days, I reckon, unless… Hmm, that’s a thought.”

“Unless what?”

“Osamu’s favourite customer leaves early.”

He sounded cagey, so cagey that Atsumu turned back to him, and immediately followed his gaze to a spot in the corner by the chair.

A green light blinked.

Atsumu held back a whistle, watching as Suna lazily stretched, then got to his feet, sauntering towards the chair, and then sitting on it.

‘Keep talking’ he mouthed, and moved his hand down to the chair leg.

“Yeah, so, GUARD. GUARD! I DEMAND TO SEE MY LAWYER. OR MY EDITOR,” Atsumu yelled, filling the cell with the sound of his voice to not only block any mic under the chair, but also on the off chance someone would come their way. “I KNOW MY RIGHTS! I KNOW THE LAW! UNDER THE GENEVA CONV—”

“There we are!” Suna declared, displaying a camera he’d tugged free. “You can shut up now, Miya.”

“Wow, that’s … uh …” He stared at the device, snorting because in Suna’s hand it looked bulky, not at all like Ginjima’s spy glasses.

“Incredibly amateur, yes. The battery needed changing which was why it was blinking,” Suna replied, examining it closely. “There’s a chance that we’re supposed to find this and think it’s safe to talk, but …” He held it up to his face and gave a grim type of smile. “Bye bye, Crow Guard, or whoever you are. Please pass a message along to our editor, so he can take us home. We’re sowwy and pwomise never to write nasty things again.” And then he dropped it on the floor, crushing it with his heel.

“I had my fingers crossed for that last bit. Now, as I take it we’re not going to talk over Ittori-san, and you’re not going to spill any beans over his Highness, then unless we find something neutral to talk about, I’m going to sleep.”

“There’s only one mattress!”

“I don’t believe either of us wants to share,” Suna said witheringly. “Wake me up in four hours.”

He grunted an assent, and Suna chuckled. “Jeez, that’s almost teamwork, Miya-chan.”

Four hours. Right, he’d give him that, and meanwhile sit in the chair and think things through. Not that there was much to puzzle out. He’d screwed up, not only the story, but the … the … friendship? No, that wasn’t quite right. The ‘whatever it was’ with the Prince. An acquaintance. And yet they’d connected. Climbed trees. Shared jokes. Confided in each other. Kissed.

_We kissed._

He touched his lips. Such a soft kiss. Not his first. Not from the way he’d pulled Atsumu towards him.

_If Tanaka hadn’t appeared._ Atsumu closed his eyes, now slipping into the dangerous world of ‘what if’. _If_ they hadn’t been interrupted … _if_ the Crow Guard hadn’t crashed into Osamu’s … _if_ Prince Shouyou had stayed one more night…

He jerked upright.

_Kerist… what does he think I’m going to write?_ “Some things are private, Shrimpo,” he murmured.

“What was that?” Suna asked.

“Nuthin’. Go back t’ sleep.”

Last thing he was gonna do was confide in that rat.

Except … maybe he weren’t a rat. ‘Samu trusted him. ‘Samu was doin’ things with him Atsumu didn’t want to think about, but the fact was they were an item, and had been for a while now. And if it was true that ‘Samu didn’t tell Suna anything about the stories Atsumu worked on, then maybe them being together had nothing to do with him at all.

He wasn’t sure why that pissed him off.

Unless … Jeez, is the rat right? Am I only in this for the glory? Always wantin’ to do things solo. Not needin’ any help.

Working with Gin had been fun, though. And he’d been quick thinking enough to lure the Crow Guard away when Atsumu had been stuck in the tree. Saved their asses, there.

“You must have heard that!”

Great he talked in his sleep. “If you ain’t sleepin’ then I’ll take the mattress,” he grumbled.

“Footsteps.” Suna sat up. “Above us.”

And now that he focused on what was happening _around_ him, he heard what Suna had. Footsteps above them, petering away, followed by the slamming of a door, and a low hubbub of voices.

“HEY! HEY!” Atsumu yelled and banged on the door. “HEY! GET DOWN HERE!”

“They won’t, not now we’ve destroyed their camera,” Suna sighed.

“So we’re left here to rot.”

“Depends how much we’ll rot in four days, I guess,” Suna replied. “They’ve left us a bucket, so they must be thinking about coming back.”

“So thoughtful.”

“Not really. Makes it easier for them to clean.” He got up and made his way to the door. “Hold up, I was wrong. They’re coming this way.”

“Maybe Kita-san’s worked his magic!” Atsumu breathed, unable to stop a small well of excitement in his gut.

“Or they’re going to separate us.” He flexed his fingers, then rolled his shoulders, twisting his neck from side to side. “Bring it on.”

And, just as he stepped back from the door, the footsteps became louder and the door flew open. Nishinoya stood there, flanked by two guards, both heavy, blocking any possibility of escape, and as one of the guards stepped into the cell, brandishing a baton, Nishinoya pointed at Suna. “You. Out of here now.”

Unbidden Suna’s words slammed back to Atsumu. ‘One random journalist dead in a hedge could be classed as an accident, but two is suspicious.’

“We ain’t being separated!” he demanded, stepping in front of Suna.

“Why do you want me?” Suna asked, sounding casual but his voice thinned towards the end.

Nishinoya gave a grim sort of smile. “You’re being released. They’re satisfied you had nothing to do with the kidnapping.”

“It weren’t a kidnapping!” Atsumu protested.

“And as long as you sign a waiver and don’t write about this, then there’s no quarrel with you.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You can stay here.” Nishinoya shrugged. “What’s one more missing journalist to us?”

Atsumu heard Suna gulp and then exhale before he took a step behind Atsumu, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m stay—”

“Don’t be dumb,” Atsumu muttered. “Go now while you can.”

“We’re safer together. We have no idea if he’s telling the truth.”

Atsumu studied Nishinoya, tilting his head in perusal. The Prince’s words in the café came back to him, the peremptory order to put down the donabe or he’d be dismissed, and he judged what he knew of the Prince—his wonder at experiencing anything new, his delight in the day, and above all his innate ability to see and believe the best in people.

“I believe him,” Atsumu said. “The Prince ain’t got an issue with you, Suna-kun. Go now while you have a chance, yeah. I c’n wait it out.”

The heaviest guard had slid behind them, now prodding Suna with his baton. “Come on.”

“Go,” Atsumu urged, not breaking eye contact with Nishinoya. “It’ll be fine.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you want the story to yourself,” Suna said, his mouth glimmering into an almost smile as he allowed himself to be propelled forwards.

“Yeah… ‘bout that…” Atsumu took a breath, letting the stale air whistle between his teeth.

“What?” Suna turned at the doorway, wriggling free from Nishinoya’s grasp.

“If I ain’t out of here in four days, like you reckon, then … uh … my source… is … uh … Look, there’s an envelope sellotaped under my desk drawer. Check that.”

“What?” Suna demanded, as he was dragged out.

The door slammed, steel against steel causing the walls to reverberate. “Not for four days, though!” he yelled down the corridor. “Or I’ll know yer a rat!”

***

At least he had the mattress to himself. And as no guards had returned to rough him up, his mind mulled over more than his safety slipping to his future when he was free. (He didn’t countenance if.) Why the fuck had he given up his source? There was no way Suna Rattarou would wait. He’d go straight to the office looking for that envelope.

_That’s what I’d do, wouldn’t I?_

_Maybe_ _you would_ , a voice told him, but _maybe, Miya Atsumu, you’re better than that._

It was as he was drifting off to sleep that it occurred to him he’d met the Prince only twenty-four hours before, slumped against his bike. If he’d left him there in the street, then none of this would have happened. He’d be at home right now, drinking beer and sulking over Suna getting his story. If Prince Shouyou had been found by his guards, then perhaps he’d have filed a benign story about his first day in Hyogo. Or maybe he’d have refused and sulked some more.

He wouldn’t have called Ginjima first thing in the morning. Wouldn’t have made him buy clothes for the Prince. They wouldn’t have accompanied the Prince through the streets of Hyogo and to the park. He wouldn’t have seen the sights and life of the city through the Prince’s eyes, appreciated the violinist in the same way.

Wouldn’t have climbed a tree.

Or felt those hands in his hair or that mouth on his.

Four days in a cell because he gave a stray a beanbag for the night.

He grinned.

“Worth it!”

Morning came and with it a monosyllabic guard delivering a tray of slop which passed as food. There was a bottle of water though, which was cold, and after glugging down a few mouthfuls, he splashed some on his face.

“Am I getting’ out of here at all?” he yelled, seeing that the guard was sitting at the end of the corridor and hadn’t disappeared.

The guard shrugged.

“Don’t they want to interview me?”

“What are you? A celebrity?”

“Everyone’s a comedian,” Atsumu muttered, and returned to the tray, poking the bowl of rice with his chopsticks. Unseasoned mush, ‘Samu would be horrified at the prison conditions of this alone.

The guard was still there when he’d finished, now listening to music on a small radio. He’d not turned the volume up, so while Atsumu knew it was on, he couldn’t hear the individual tunes, just a faint _tzin tzin_ of sound.

(He wondered if this were a form of torture, set at that level just to set his teeth on edge.)

Four days. Well, three and a half now. He could do this. Even if he had no phone, no wifi access, no TV, no books… not even a pencil and paper.

“HEY!” he banged on the door.

“What?” the guard said not bothering to look his way.

“When am I getting out?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Could you help me?”

“A jail break!” the guard’s eyes lit up and a dopey smile spread across his face. Putting down the radio he slunk along the wall, pressing his face against the door. “What are you suggesting?” he hissed.

_Oh … OH_

“Uh … well … you could kinda accidentally leave the door unlocked.”

“Yeah … I could do that.”

“And then,” Atsumu swallowed. “Uh, I’d need to know the coast was clear.”

“So, a lookout, too.”

“Mmm, that’s right.”

“I could lose my job… go to prison myself.”

“Not if we planned this properly, and … obviously I’d pay you.”

“You would?”

“Of course!”

“Let me think…” He tapped his chin, an almost cartoonish frown on contemplation creasing his forehead.

_Wow, is it gonna be that easy?_

“How about …” the guard drawled.

“Yes?”

“No!” He laughed, somewhat nastily. “You’re a hack writing scummy stories. Why the hell would I help you?” He glared at Atsumu. “Not everyone can be bought.”

“Great, I find the one guard with integrity.”

“There’s a lot of us know where our loyalties lie.”

He twirled the keys and sauntered back to his chair and resumed listening to the radio, this time whistling tunelessly.

“And that’s to a group who kidnap me, refuse me representation and throw me in a fuckin’ cell. Great loyalties there!” Atsumu snapped. “You know I’ve done nothing wrong, right?”

“It’s not for me to know things like that,” the guard said, sniggering.

“Can you at least tell me if my cellmate is okay?”

“Huh? What the other guy brought in with ya?”

“Yes, him.”

“Why wouldn’t he be okay?” he asked puzzled. “Nishinoya-san personally released him.”

“Your faith is touching.” He turned away from the door, faced his cell and pondered the relative merits of the chair as opposed to the mattress. In the end he sat cross-legged on the floor, stared up at ceiling and tried to pretend this was another tree.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there before he heard voices. The guard switched off his radio, and his voice stopped being sloppy becoming far more obsequious. Atsumu stayed where he was, cultivating a couldn’t care less attitude, but his ears were on stalks trying to divine who’d walked in.

“Miya!”

It wasn’t Nishinoya, but the voice was familiar.

“Tanaka, right?” Atsumu replied, not turning round. “You here to put me in front of a firing squad?”

“What?”

“Or maybe jus’ rough me up a bit?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Remove my fingernails? Thumbscrews? Break each toe? I don’t know what the latest vogue is for torture but—”

“How ‘bout you shut your mouth instead of me hurting my knuckles on your teeth,” Tanaka snarled. “And listen.”

“Go on then,” Atsumu replied, rather enjoying winding him up even if he knew he could only end up on the receiving end of pain.

The cell door swung open.

“You have a visitor,” Tanaka snapped.

He swivelled around on his arse, falling forward. “Is it the Prince?”

Tanaka grabbed his arm and pulled him to standing. “Why the fuck would he be here?”

“Is he okay?”

Tanaka blinked. His grip lessened. Then his fingers bit into Atsumu’s arm. “What’s it to you?”

“Concerned. Worried,” Atsumu replied, and allowed himself to be hauled out of the cell. “I didn’t kidnap him, you know? I found him.”

“Save it. I don’t care,” Tanaka mumbled. He stopped in the corridor, shoving Atsumu forwards and towards a figure standing at the end of the corridor in the doorway of another room.

He was slight, yet had an air of command and intimidation far beyond anything Atsumu could ever achieve. Dressed formally, he carried his jacket over one arm, a briefcase in the other. He was staring at Atsumu with eyes that could singularly warm or freeze depending on the situation he surveyed, and as he approached, Atsumu felt a small flip in his stomach when he realised he wasn’t about to be frozen out of existence, whatever his ‘crime’.

Although he wasn’t exactly warm, either. “One of these days, Atsumu-kun, I’ll take Aran-san’s advice and leave you to sort out your own mess.”

“Kita-san,” he husked. “You f-found me. Can you get me out?”

“That’s the idea.” A sliver of a smile appeared on his lips. “Can’t leave my most monstrous reporter locked up indefinitely, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhhhh, the chapter count changed again, but I promise you I've finished the fic and the next chapter (which is LONNGGGG) will be the absolute last.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this.


	8. The Price of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanaka glowered again, but made no attempt to attack Atsumu. “He’s been sheltered all his life. That makes him vulnerable.”  
> “Again not my fault,” Atsumu retorted. “But he ain’t as naïve as you think.”   
> “If you so much as hint at anything, I’ll break your neck,” Tanaka seethed, and grabbed Atsumu by the shirt, pulling him up close.   
> “He inspires that much loyalty, or is it the pay check from the Palace?” Atsumu whispered, his eyes widening half with fear, half in excitement at the reaction he was provoking. “Who are you really guarding here, Tanaka Ryuunosuke? The Sunshine Prince, the Family or your bank balance?”  
> “Screw you!” Tanaka hissed and pushed him away. “I saw you in the alleyway, remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta Da! Yes, look, it's the actual final chapter. No more after this! Thank you to those who've stuck with the story which has both delighted and exasperated me. Amd watch the original film which is a classic and Audrey is very beautiful.

Tanaka led them to a different room along a different corridor and with a different guard at the entrance. Dismissing him, he unlocked the door and gestured for Kita and Atsumu to go inside, stepping back to shut the door and leave them alone.

It was a blank room, much like his cell. Instead of a mattress and a bucket, there was a table with chairs each side, and a water cooler in the corner. Atsumu stared at it, wondering if that too was bugged, but then he had nothing to hide, not now.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for exactly?” Kita sat and waited.

Atsumu joined him. “I shoulda told you what was goin’ on.”

“I presume the reasons you didn’t are because you were mad at me for assigning you the Royal story, and you decided you’d show us all with this scoop.”

“Somethin’ like that.” He tried a joke. “Is there a lamp to shine in my eyes as you interrogate me?”

“This isn’t an interrogation, Atsumu,” Kita replied and from his briefcase he produced a small tape recorder. “The Palace want me to record you saying you’ll never write a story about the Prince.”

“Huh? What never?”

“I agree that’s preposterous and they can’t expect any journalist to never mention the heir to the throne. They bartered it down to ‘never publishing anything defamatory about the Prince’, which is doable, I suppose, but then if he turns out to be a master criminal and again you weren’t allowed—”

“He wouldn’t be,” Atsumu interrupted. “How ‘bout I promise not to print anythin’ about what happened durin’ his … uh … Hyogo holiday?” He turned to the water cooler. “That okay, for ya?”

“You’re also not to contact the Prince, or allowed within fifty meters of him.”

“So, that’s me off the story,” Atsumu replied and let out a barely covered yawn. “Sorry, I’m so tired.”

“Here’s your phone,” Kita said in reply as he clicked off the tape recorder. “They were, I believe, persuaded that you weren’t exploiting him by the absence of photographs on it. You’ll get your laptop back in due course.”

“WHAAAAAT?”

“I’ve been assured any other story you’ve been working on will remain confidential and untampered, but you must understand they only want to protect the Prince.”

“I guess.” He slumped forwards resting his face in his arms. “You mad at me, Kita-san?”

“You managed to get not only yourself, but another of my journalists detained, a photographer is in hiding, and all of this has caused a staffing headache. Akagi has had to cancel his holiday so he can photograph the rest of the tour, so as you can probably guess he’d currently like to … what were his words ‘kick Miya’s ass halfway across Hyogo’,” he said icily. “However…” His tone changed, a touch warmer as he leant across to whisper. “I admire your chutzpah.”

“How are ‘Samu and Gin?” Atsumu muttered back, adding as an afterthought. “And Suna.”

“All fine. Osamu came to find me as soon as you’d been taken. Ginjima’s lying low at Oomimi-san’s house. Suna went straight to the office. He’s itching to write about his arrest, but he held off.”

“Why?” His eyes narrowed.

Shaking his head, Kita sighed. “Because it could have prejudiced your release, of course.”

_Really?_ “Oh… that’s … um … nice.”

“So grudging!” Kita laughed.

“He told you where I was then, ‘cuz we had no idea where we was heading.”

“Something like that,” Kita replied smoothly and in a louder voice. “Come on. You need sleep, food and a shower.” He sniffed. “Not necessarily in that order.”

“Office first.”

“What for?”

_Suna was there. Fuckin’ rat._

With Kita handing over the recording to the relevant authorities, Atsumu waited outside, taking in a lungful of freedom air. A little shamefaced over how melodramatic that sounded in his head after less than twenty-four hours’ incarceration, he nonetheless still felt giddy at the sight of the outside world.

He took a step forward, turning around to study the building he’d been held in. Not a castle with dungeons and moats after all, but more of an old municipal hall, with off white painted walls, a pair of dragon statues poking out of the doorway pillars and a manicured lawn behind twisted wrought iron railings.

Far less intimidating in daylight, but if he never came back here, it would be too soon. What had scared him wasn’t what had happened, but what might have happened. And he pondered intimidation tactics, the anticipation of disaster being far more potent than the actual event.

From out of nowhere, an arm grabbed him, hoisting him off the pathway and slamming him into the wall.

“Just one thing,” Tanaka menaced, twisting Atsumu’s arm behind his back. “I don’t trust you, your mate or your editor in the slightest. So whatever you’ve said on that tape, I know you’re already working out ways to get around it, so … let me tell you something straight, Miya.”

“Go on,” Atsumu wheezed.

“If you say or print anything that portrays the Prince in a bad light, then I will find you. An’ maybe after I’ve rearranged your face, you won’t be identical to your twin anymore.”

Taking a breath, Atsumu kicked back with his foot. There was no power behind it, but the movement caused Tanaka to stagger and loosen his hold.

“I have no intention of writin’ anythin’ ‘bout Prince Shouyou that’d make him look bad,” Atsumu spat, rubbing his face where the bricks had imprinted on his cheek. “It ain’t my fault he wanted to leave, yer know. You lot should be lookin’ not at what he did it, but why.”

Tanaka glowered again, but made no attempt to attack Atsumu. “He’s been sheltered all his life. That makes him vulnerable.”

“Again not my fault,” Atsumu retorted. “But he ain’t as naïve as you think.”

“If you so much as hint at anything, I’ll break your neck,” Tanaka seethed, and grabbed Atsumu by the shirt, pulling him up close.

“He inspires that much loyalty, or is it the pay check from the Palace?” Atsumu whispered, his eyes widening half with fear, half in excitement at the reaction he was provoking. “Who are you really guarding here, Tanaka Ryuunosuke? The Sunshine Prince, the _Family_ or your bank balance?”

“Screw you!” Tanaka hissed and pushed him away. “I saw you in the alleyway, remember.”

With barely a second to think, Atsumu licked his lips playing for time. “I don’t know what you think you saw,” he drawled, “apart from me shieldin’ the Prince so you wouldn’t see him.”

“And that’s all.”

“What are you implyin’?”

Tanaka narrowed his eyes, peered closer (and by peering he shoved his face right into Atsumu’s) and then sighed out a breath. “As long as we understand each other.”

_Doubt you’d understand anythin’, you Neanderthal._

The door opened, Kita exiting the building with his coat buttoned up and briefcase under his arm. “Atsumu, please tell me you’re not causing more trouble,” he called across to them.

Atsumu flashed him a smile, widening it as he took in Tanaka too. “Naw. Everythin’s peachy, Kita-san. C’n we go?”

“Of course. Car is over there, if Tanaka-san would be so good as to open the gates.”

Disarmed by Kita’s politeness, Tanaka obliged and soon they were speeding away from Atsumu’s prison.

In the car, he pulled out his phone to call ‘Samu, but he was out of charge. Almost immediately, Kita handed him his phone, and he dialled the number, trying not to let out a shudder of relief when Samu answered on the second ring.

“Kita-san. Is he okay?”

“I’m fine, scrub. How are you?”

He heard the gulp and the swallow and then the snappish tone. “Restaurant’s a mess. They did _not_ clear up. Next time, please leave me outta your scrapes, moron.”

“Not really my fault.”

“You brought him here!”

“An’ you was happy enough at the time.”

“Yes, well …” His tone softened. “You really are okay, yeah?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good … look, I gotta go. Someone’s turned up wantin’ to speak t’ me. Come round later?”

“Yeah, if I can. Make me some tuna onigiri, will ya?”

“I’ll even let ya have a discount!”

Chuckling, he handed the phone back to Kita. “Thanks, boss,” he said, and settled back in the seat closing his eyes to catch up on some sleep.

“There’s a text for you,” Kita said a little later as they walked into the Herald office. “From Osamu-kun.”

“Huh? Is he okay?”

“Take a look,” Kita said.

**_< <The person who turned up was here to clear up. Handed me over a wad of cash for damages, too. Guess Prince Shouyou kept his word.>>_ **

“Oh…”

“One thing, you might be interested in,” Kita murmured, steering him into his office. “Suna contacted me as soon as he was free, but he had no idea where you’d been taken. He was driven back blindfolded.”

“Then, how did you know where I was?”

“I received a tip off with the exact location.”

“Huh?”

“A well-spoken young man,” Kita continued. “Not a local accent at all.”

“Was it—”

“Whatever you’re thinking is pure speculation. However, I must reiterate that you’re to stick to the agreement and go nowhere near the Prince for the rest of his tour. Take the break you need, Atsumu-kun.”

He left Kita’s office, promising to go home, but before he left, he strode into the main office and sat at his desk. Pulling open the middle drawer, he slid his hand underneath it.

“Checking up on me?” Suna said, appearing behind him. “Go ahead. I’ve not touched your envelope. Not even taken the sneakiest peek.”

The envelope was intact, not the slightest bit tampered with, but instead of closing the drawer, Atsumu peeled off the sellotape and held the envelope in his hand.

“You were tempted, right?”

“Sure. I could have had a twelve hour head start on the story by now.”

“But you didn’t. Why not?”

“I’m not a complete rat, ‘Tsumu,” he replied, sounding mild. “Besides your brother would have killed me.”

“You like him, right?”

The swallow told acres more about his feelings, as did the incline of his head as he turned away.

“Hey, you forgot somethin’,” Atsumu mumbled.

“Huh?”

He pushed the envelope into Suna’s hands. “It’s his secretary,” Atsumu said. “She hates what he’s doin’ but she’s also his sister-in-law, so she ain’t gonna give direct evidence against him ‘cuz it’ll upset her sister. Family loyalty, right?”

“Tricky,” Suna replied softly.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t get through that, but maybe you can.”

***

He arrived back at his apartment, knowing he should shower and a sleep, but as he unlocked the door he felt unable to summon up the need to do either. The Crow Guard had not only taken his laptop, but had gone through his apartment. Not that it was a mess, but he realised every remnant of the Prince’s existence, any evidence he’d been there, had been obliterated. Plates had been washed, pizza scraps removed, and the clothes he’d worn that first night had been taken away. Even the beanbag he’d slept in had been plumped up so his imprint had gone.

It was as if he’d never been here. And any attempt by Atsumu to tell his tale would rightly be treated with derision with nothing to back up his claim.

A stray thought wisped into his head, and reaching for the remote, he switched on the news channel.

_Come on, come on, where is it?_

The statement from the Palace had been that the Prince was now fully recovered and would resume his tour, which would be compressed into three days rather than five. A hectic schedule of factory tours, schools, a charity gala and a government sponsored banquet where he could press the flesh and listen obediently.

The programme showed the Prince in black that morning facing the Press, and apologising for his absence.

And that was it.

Atsumu scrutinised those present: the Crow Guard standing one each side, other body guards dotted around the room, as much to keep the Prince in as anyone untoward crashing the party. He saw Riseki, the youngest journalist at the Herald, looking about the room with excitement at having landed his first solo job. In all probability he’d have been the first choice for the story if Kita and Aran hadn’t wanted to teach Atsumu a lesson, so he bore him no grudge. Besides, he was safe, unlikely to ruffle any feathers. (At least not for a year or two.) Alongside him sat Akagi, the paper’s chief photographer, sporting a weary ‘seen-it-all-before’ expression.

Behind the Prince, officials had lined up to greet him, and under the watchful eye of the television camera, Atsumu saw the utmost politeness on his face as he received the Mayor, the Chief of Police, and several other local bigwigs including their local Minister for Housing, Atsumu noticed. Smug and smiling, Ittori bowed obsequiously low to the Prince, then ushered him towards the door and to a separate room.

_Bastard._

As press conferences go it had been dull. With nothing newsworthy except the Prince’s ‘recovery’.

No announcements about anything.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

He showered then slept, wrapped in a towel, face down on his bed. The hunger in his gut, he assuaged with water, but the other ache wasn’t as easy to placate. Staring out of his window, he watched the stall holders plying their trade, and he squinted wondering if the Portuguese violinist was there, but from this distance it was hard to see and even harder to hear. And why he was bothering he didn’t know, because the Prince wouldn’t be back. Even if he wanted to, the restrictions placed around him wouldn’t have allowed it.

**< <Sorry about getting you into shit>>** he texted Gin.

The reply came back a short while later. **_< <It’s all good. You didn’t tell Kita about the glasses, I hope.>>_**

**< <Course not.>.**

He chewed his lip, wondering whether to take this step because it weren’t as if he and ‘Toshi were close. But …

**< <Wanna come over. I’ve got beer.>>**

**_< <Hey, thanks, that would have been good, but I’ve got plans.>>_ **

**< <Another time>>** he didn’t add the maybe. The maybe and a question mark made him sound desperate. And he wasn’t. At all.

**_< <For sure!>> _ **

Was there such a thing as a sarcastic exclamation mark? Atsumu wondered, If Suna had sent it, then yeah, but Gin wasn’t the sarcastic type.

In the end, with no work to crack on with, he picked up his jacket and headed down to Onigiri Miya.

“We’re closed,” Samu yelled, not looking up. But he hurried to the door when he saw who it was.

“Why you closed? Did the goons do that much damage?”

Osamu shook his head. “More that I was outta action when I was on the run.”

He made it sound dramatic, exciting. Atsumu hid his grin.

“And in the confusion one o’ the fridges was left open, so a lot of the food spoiled. I’m waitin’ on a delivery,” Osamu added. “Don’t worry, the fatty tuna was in the other one.”

“Then … uh … can I order one of your finest tuna onigiri, ‘Samu-chan.” He held up a bag. “I’ve brought beer.”

“That’s the kind of customer I like,” Osamu laughed, then he faltered. “‘Tarou’s on his way. Is that a problem?”

“I guess there’s enough beer,” Atsumu said ultra-casually, and was rewarded by Osamu crinkling the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

“Was it awful?” he asked. “Tarou said you had t’ a share a cell.”

“Yeah, he snores somethin’ awful, but I guess you know that,” Atsumu wisecracked. With his face straight, he carried on. “It was fine. I weren’t there that long. More worried about the rest of yer.”

“And … uh … Prince Shouyou? Is he … uh …”

He shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“’Bout what?”

“How d’you meet him f’ one thing. It ain’t commonplace runnin’ into a Prince, ‘Tsumu.”

“’Nother time,” he muttered.

“He seemed … nice,” Osamu mused, not quite giving up. “I liked him.”

“You liked him likin’ your food,” Atsumu replied. “Sorry if I’ve fucked up any Royal Approval.”

“My onigiri is fit for Princes!” Osamu declared. “Just knowin’s good enough,”

“Ha! Admit it. You’d rather have the publicity.”

“Well … yeah, but knowin’ that after all the expensive banquets and cordon bleu food he musta had, he still enjoyed my food is a great feelin’, yer know.”

Atsumu opened two of the beers and handed one to his brother. He thought about sharing pizza, and riding his bike with the Prince holding on tight. About sitting in trees, and running from the Guard. He thought about that kiss, then closed off the memory, supping his beer instead. “Yup. I know.”

The call from Gin took him by surprise with an invitation to meet up for a beer.

“We should catch up,” he told Atsumu.

“To swap notes?”

“That too. But it was kinda fun hanging out with you and Prince Shouyou.”

“I doubt he’ll come along,” Atsumu tried to joke.

“Well, no. Shame. I liked his enthusiasm. And those eggs were good. So … tonight?”

He should say yes. He should agree because this was another connection he could make instead of spending the night alone in his apartment. Since seeing ‘Samu, he’d not been out, staying home with no company but his thoughts and memories. “Ah, I don’t know. I’m kinda tired.”

Ginjima sighed. “Another time, then.”

“Yeah, sure.” He swallowed. “I do mean that, Gin. Jus’ not tonight. I’m not really in the mood.”

“Last day tomorrow, right?” The question dropped like a stone in a pool, and Atsumu wasn’t sure how many ripples had circled out before he answered.

“Yup,” he said brightly. “I might actually be put back onto a proper story at last. You been busy?”

“Airport detail again,” Gin groaned. “Really dull. Although Yachi Hitoka flew in to Hyogo this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? Are you sure? I thought she arrived earlier this week.”

“It was definitely her. Her mother met her at the gates and ushered her into a big car. Not before I got some good shots though. She was pretty happy and smiling for photos. Not her usual shy self at all.”

In time for the announcement, clearly.

“Uh… Gin, I ain’t able t’ write the story, but the photos are pretty much fair game if you wanted to sell ‘em. Like the Herald ain’t able t’ publish, but I’m sure there’d be a market somewhere.”

“Oh… yeah. Right.”

Saying goodbye, Atsumu sat down heavily in his beanbag and stared at nothing. The sun was shining outside, but his apartment was ice.

_What the fuck were you thinkin’?_ raged his brain. _That after one day in your dumb company, and one kiss, he’d throw off his destiny?_ _You betrayed him!_

_You’re pathetic._

“I know,” he muttered.

He slept. Fitfully. Dreamlessly. But he slept until the combined sound of his doorbell, a banging on the door and his phone woke him up the following morning.

“Jeez, okay, okay!” he yelled, fumbling for the door. “Gin, how good to see you so bright and early,” he snarked.

Gin looked disgustingly healthy, as if he’d already been for a five k run, drank orange juice for breakfast and always got a full eight hours sleep.

“It’s nine o’clock,” Ginjima replied and held out a tray of coffee. “Come on.”

“Come on, where?” Atsumu croaked. He rubbed at his eyes, then realising Gin was still on the doorstep he accepted the coffees and let him in. “Nine o’clock, really?”

“Yup, I’ve been calling since eight thirty.”

“Why?” He sipped the coffee. Black, extra strong. And almost choked. “I repeat, why?”

“Last Press conference,” Gin said. “I think we should go and say our goodbyes.”

“Whaaaaat? Are you mad?”

“Probably. I think your influence has rubbed off on me,” he said. Sipping his own coffee, he paused before continuing. “What you said last night about the photos and selling them—”

“What about it?”

“It got me thinking. I mean, yeah, I could sell them. I don’t have to say how they came into my possession, and I’ve been thinking how I could just leak ‘em. They don’t show the Prince in a bad light. They’re pretty good, y’know. Eatin’ street food, getting’ measured for a shirt, sittin’ in a tree. It’s all light-hearted and normal. And, well, if the story gets out, then that’d help you in the future if you ever want to spill the beans.”

“That ain’t why I asked you about them,” Atsumu muttered. “I promised the Palace and Kita-san that I wouldn’t write anythin’ unauthorised, but … um … I was already feelin’ bad about it.”

“Mmm, you gave me the glasses back. I wondered.” Inhaling slowly, Gin shook out his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height. “Anyway, it don’t feel right sellin’ them, so I won’t. But I also want the Prince to know we’re not all scum paparazzi, and I can only do that in person.”

“So you’re gonna sneak in?”

“Wronggggg,” he clanged and grinned again as he handed over a bag. “ _We’re_ going to sneak in.”

Twenty minutes later, after the quickest shower in existence, a hand shakingly dangerous shave, they left Atsumu’s apartment with trilby hats pulled over their hair and fake ids on red lanyards.

“Nekoma News – ughh, who are they?”

“Tokyo outfit,” Ginjima replied. “I know someone who knows someone, yadder yadder yadder, and these are genuine passes.”

“So, I’m Ya-ma-moto and … who are you?”

“Fukunaga. Actually I’ve met the guy, or rather we wave to each other at awards ceremonies. He’s hilarious.”

“And Yamamoto?”

“A loud mouth. Not that you’re typecast at all.”

“Hey!”

But his outrage was fake; this was all beginning to feel like fun, the anticipation of a story creeping in, even if there was no story here for the media, it would satisfy the story in his mind.

“How’s your Tokyo accent?”

“Non-existent. I ain’t a city scrub.”

“Then I,” Ginjima replied, affecting a Tokyo twang, “will do all the talking for us.”

“You sound shit.”

“Oh…” Gin’s face fell. “I thought my accents were quite good.”

“They are. Yer sound shit. Jus’ like a shitty city scrub.”

They made it to the press conference, with surprising ease. Ginjima drove, waving his pass at the gateman to park in the grounds of the town hall. The other cars were far flashier. Big black Mercedes with tinted windows screaming money at them.

Adjusting his hat and pushing some shaded over his eyes, Atsumu got out the car, scowled at the merc (which belonged to Ittori) and sauntered up the gravel path just behind Ginjima.

“Nekoma News,” he said, flashing his pass, then pointing to his camera. “I’m the brains, Yamamoto here’s the journalist.”

“Nekoma? Huh?” the security guard peered close at the passes and at his list. “You’re not on the list …”

“Late addition. Did our editor not call ahead? The Prince is visiting Tokyo next so we were going to make the journey with him. Kind of compare the two places.”

“Yer were, were yer?” grumbled the guard. He sighed, peering behind them at the queue forming then stared up at Atsumu. “Remove the sunglasses, will ya?”

“This do,” Atsumu said, pushing down his nose.

The guard narrowed his eyes, studied his list again, but then nodded. “Ah, yeah, I’m sure that’s fine.”

“Didn’t even get to use my spiel,” Ginjima sighed. “Still, we’re in so I shouldn’t complain.”

“Long line of us to let in. He looked done ‘fore he’d even started,” Atsumu replied, cheering up.

They stayed at the back, watching as the hall filled up, members of the press taking seats rather than scrambling for places at the front. All very civilised and dull, Atsumu decided, and leant back in his chair.

“Shouldn’t I take off my hat?” he muttered to Ginjima.

“No, your hair is too recognisable.”

“But a trilby? Really?”

“I figured Nekoma would go for a classic look.”

“More like a stereotypical news hack look. I ain’t never worn a trilby.”

“It’s serving a purpose, now shuddup!”

“What purpose?”

“It got you in here, and when the Prince looks our way, you can dramatically take it off, tug yer forelock and replace it. That way he knows yer here.”

“Wow, you’ve really thought this all through.”

“I don’t jus’ snap pretty pictures, you know,” Gin whispered. “I need to find the angle and if I’m lucky the right setting.”

And then the general hubbub calmed down – a silence descending on the room as the Mayor walked out, closely followed not only by Ittori-san, but Yachi Madoka and her daughter.

“Oh-oh, so this is it,” Ginjima murmured, and lifted his camera to take a picture of the mother and daughter.

A lump which seemed to start in his stomach, crawled up to Atsumu’s throat. If this were misery, he didn’t want to stay here wallowing in it, but as he got to his feet to make his exit, four other people strode onto stage, and he was caught –rabbit in the headlights—staring at the one in the centre, a figure with flaming hair clad in white traditional robes.

The Prince looked happy, relaxed even, casting a smile at Yachi Hitoka and her mother, before taking his seat at the centre of the stage, between the Hyogo Mayor and … _Wow, really?_

“Who’s that?” Ginjima asked, peering at the newcomer on Prince Shouyou’s left.

“Childhood friend, Yamaguchi Tadashi,” Atsumu replied softly. “I take it he’s not been at other events.”

Ginjima pulled him back onto the chair. “No, I’ve not seen him bef—”

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press,” began the official, managing to load the statement with sarcasm. “The schedule of events today for His Highnesses last day in Hyogo is as follows. We hope to see you there, but remember to maintain a respectful distance at all times. Any questions about the itinerary should be asked at the end of the Press conference and directed to myself or the Mayor. Other questions to his Highness, may be permitted, but His Highness reserves the right to not provide an answer.”

There then followed a list of engagements and a jam-packed schedule, ending with the opening of a new publishing house in Hyogo (the latest in Yachi Madoka’s chain) and a banquet to conclude the Prince’s visit.

And as the journalists asked questions, Atsumu yawned at the dullness of it all, the endless tours and times. A roster dedicated to meeting equally dull people.

_And not a tree in sight._

His smile became a smirk when he saw the Prince’s mouth had become distortedly long before the telltale sign of a hand covering up a yawn appeared. Their eyes met. Or rather, the Prince appeared to be staring right at them, but Atsumu was still wearing his sunglasses, so he tipped his hat—briefly displaying his hair. The Prince blinked, then his face straight, he looked away, turning to his friend to whisper something and receiving a nod as a reply.

He got up. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, voice a little breathy. “The schedule is the schedule, and it all sounds so regimented, doesn’t it, spawning a dozen similar stories, so how about I announce some good news for you all.”

“Your engagement!” yelled Riseki.

“Oh god, he’s an eager beaver,” Atsumu scoffed.

“He’s keen. Leave him alone!” Gin retorted. “But I’m not sure Prince Shouyou’s gonna like being pre-empted like that.”

However the Prince chuckled. “No, not that. I would like to announce that Yamaguchi Tadashi is joining my staff as an adviser. I’ve been fortunate enough to call him my friend for many, many years, and he will serve both myself and the country with utmost dedication and pride.” He cleared his throat, and looked over his shoulder. “But the even better news is that he has just become engaged to another of my long term friends, Yachi Hitoka. I know you’ll all want to wish them a long life of happiness togeth—”

“IT AIN’T YOU!” Atsumu yelled, and threw the horrible trilby in the air.

“Aw, jeez sit down!” Ginjima muttered and hid his face in his hands.

Prince Shouyou flashed him a smile. “Naw, it ain’t me,” he said in a shockingly thick accent. “Your enthusiasm is … uh … noted, Atsumu-san.”

The gasp at the Prince’s use of his name reverberated around the room, from Ittori jerking his head up in shock, to Riseki staring balefully back at him, and Akagi rolling his eyes. And then the Crow Guard began their move to evict him, Nishinoya cracking his knuckles.

“And,” the Prince interrupted, laying a hand on Nishinoya’s arm. “I would like to meet the ladies and gentlemen of the Press today. It really is the least I can do, after you’ve attended all my engagements without the benefit of the banquets at the end of the day.”

They lined up, almost dutifully, but there was a mild air of panic and excitement at this break in protocol. Atsumu stayed where he was, Ginjima next to him, although they both stood up, wondering if this interaction was because of them, or if they’d be excluded as they’d got in under false pretences. He watched Riseki blush and stammer as the Prince exchanged some words with him. And he honestly couldn’t blame even the cynic that was Akagi, their chief photographer, becoming flustered as the Prince bestowed one of his widest smiles on him and posed for a shot with the happy couple.

“Akagi-san will be wiring that out to every newspaper in the world,” Gin grumbled. “Always one step ahead.”

“You still own far more valuable photographs,” Atsumu whispered. “Could absolutely make yer name, ‘Toshi.”

“Not sure that’s the kinda name I want,” came the reply. “Hey, he’s making his way over.”

He was smaller again, less statesman and more boy next door. As he approached, Atsumu saw him gnawing at the side of his mouth, and one hand began to rub at the back of his neck before he collected his thoughts and from staring at the floor, he swept himself up and looked right into Atsumu’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Atsumu replied. “But we wanted… uh … I want—”

“But I’m glad you are,” Prince Shouyou continued. “I didn’t think something as trivial as a restraining order would keep you away.”

“It was my idea, Your Highness,” Ginjima said and bowed low. “I want to apologise and … uh assure you that nothing will … um be published and …” He gulped. “Shit… I mean … sorry, sorry …” Turning away in what Atsumu thought was an attempt to hide his confusion, he re-emerged with a brown paper parcel and handed it over. “S-Souvenirs,” he managed to stammer. “Of your time in Hyogo.”

“Oh…” The Prince blinked. Maybe the protocol here was to have the guard accept the package, but instead he ripped at the paper, finally laughing when he discovered what was wrapped up. “What beautiful shirts!” he exclaimed and held the dark green one up to his face. “Foxes, what a wonderful idea. And these parrots are … how did you know I’d like them?” he asked, a faint undercurrent of teasing in his voice.

“Um… yeah, we thought the parrots would remind you of Brazil and the foxes of … uh … our newspaper,” Ginjima said when Atsumu remained dumbstruck.

_He’s here. He’s jokin’ with us. He ain’t mad. At least, I don’t think he is._

“And … I thought you might like this,” Ginjima was saying and from his inside pocket produced a pair of glasses.

The spy glasses.

“What are they?” the Prince asked, sounding wary.

“Try them on,” Ginjima urged.

“I don’t think so,” Nishinoya said, trying to snatch them away. “Your Highness, we’re on a schedule.”

Minister Ittori hovered on the outskirts, of the group, waiting no doubt to lead the Prince away, using the shield of royalty as shine his veneer of respectability. “Glasses?” he queried. “I do not think the Prince should be accepting presents from people such as you.”

“Hey, it’s a gift from my colleague,” Atsumu warned, staring at Nishinoya before switching his gaze to the Minister. “The Prince might find them … interesting.”

Accepting them, Prince Shouyou slipped on the glasses. He squinted a little and then as his sight adjusted and he focused in on Atsumu, realisation struck.

“Oh…”

“There’s a small button on the frame,” Atsumu told him.

“I’ve downloaded nothing,” Ginjima whispered. “Whatever you want to do with them is up to you, Your Highness.”

At that his shoulders relaxed and the smile he’d worn to cover his tension, slid into something far more genuine, especially when his eyes lit again, and the tiny flecks of yellow sparked in his irises. “Thank you. It’s a wonderful gift.” He laughed, and then looking at them both he raised his hand to the frame, saying, “Smile, gentlemen.”

“You Highness…” Ittori stepped closer. “We should be getting a move on.”

“Should we?” Prince Shouyou replied, not looking at him. Then he sighed, tilted his head a little and bowed again. “It was good to see you both. I have a schedule sadly, or I could talk all day.”

Taking that as his cue, Nishinoya swept the Prince away, Ittori trotting behind them. Atsumu watched as he left the room and then before the rest of the Press could descend upon them, he followed Ginjima out of a side door.

“That was a good thing you did,” Atsumu said. “And I’d forgotten about those shirts.”

“Wonder if he’ll ever wear them,” Ginjima said. “It must be like buying something you see on holiday then when you get it home it doesn’t feel right.” He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “I need to get to the airport. Is there anywhere I can drop you off.”

“Naw, think I’ll walk round f’ a little bit” Atsumu said. “Thanks, though. An’ I’ll see you for that beer soon, right?”

He didn’t leave straight away, instead he wandered around the car park and towards the main driveway where the official cars would soon be leaving from. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of the Prince, doff his dumb trilby one last time before trudging home. And tomorrow, with the Prince bound for Tokyo, he’d go back into the office and wait for Kita-san to assign him a new job. 

Sitting on a stone bench by the drive, a figure in black waited. Seeing who it was, Atsumu almost backtracked, not wanting to have to explain again his presence, but Tanaka got to his feet.

“What are you doing here?” the question was blank, not belligerent.

“I’m leavin’ soon. Not on the roster t’ follow them around.” He looked around at the grounds. “Nice place.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Tanaka muttered. Sticking his hands in his pockets he mooched forwards. “Garden round the back is nicer.”

“How lovely for you.”

“You might want to take a look.”

“Might I?” He frowned.

“Yeah.” Tanaka sucked his teeth. “You were right about something, you know?”

“Huh? I was?”

“We focused too much on the ‘What’ and not the ‘Why’.” Scuffing his shoe across the grass, he caught Atsumu’s eyes. “Anyway, the garden’s real cool. You should take a look.”

He didn’t need any more prompting, but at that moment the Hyogo Mayor came out of the main building, tapping his watch, so Atsumu broke into a jog scooting behind a hedge until he reached the back of the building and a side gate, a little ajar.

Prince Shouyou was sitting under a tree, his eyes staring up at its vast canopy, but when he heard the squeak of the gate, he raised his hand and got to his feet.

“Thank you for coming,” he called.

“Uh… yer welcome, I think.” He coughed and fiddled with his hat. “Um, I owe you an apology. I shoulda told you what I was and—”

“Hum, well, I was thinking about that,” Prince Shouyou said, “and yes, you should, but then I should probably have told you from the off who I was.”

“You wanted to hide, an’ there are lots of unscrupulous people around here who’d exploit you. And that ain’t includin’ me!”

The Prince shot him a look. “But associating with me, your kindness in letting me stay at your apartment, and taking me out into Hyogo, got you thrown into jail.”

“Which you got me out of.”

“Well, yes. But …” He grinned. “We could go back and forth with this all morning, but sadly I do not have the time. I’m only out now because I pretended I’d spilt coffee on my sleeve. But I want to explain.”

“You have nothin’ to explain.”

“I do. I ran off because I was scared of a decision I had to make.” He beckoned to Atsumu, then pointed at one of the lower branches, wide enough for two people to sit side by side. “Join me.”

Atsumu nodded, then hoisted himself onto the branch, listening to the soft breeze whistling through the leaves. “What decision?”

“You were right about the ‘Shrimpette’, Atsumu-san. There was someone, and there was pressure to announce an engagement now I’m back from Brazil, but …” He twisted his fingers together. “Anyway, I ran off hoping to buy some time to at least think, because surrounded by everyone here, there’s no space for private thoughts. But I knew I’d have to return and talk it through with her first because I owed her the truth.”

“And you have?”

He chuckled. “Yes, it was far easier than I thought. When I returned to the Palace, Tadashi was there and … well … he started to apologise, saying he knew he’d let me down, but he was in love with …”

“Yachi Hitoka. So she _was_ the Shrimpette. The media didn’t get it that wrong.”

“Hmm, they put two and two together and made five, but at least that’s less than six, so maybe.” He shrugged. “And my family didn’t exactly deny anything. They thought the match was about as suitable as it was ever going to get. But, of course, what they hadn’t ever factored in was their son refusing to go ahead with the marriage.”

“And what did they say?” he asked quietly.

“Is this Atsumu the friend or Atsumu the journalist asking?” Prince Shouyou said wryly.

“It’s your private life, and that ain’t my remit.”

“Ahh… okay.” He shuffled a little closer and covered Atsumu’s hand with his own. “I’ve not given them any details, but they know now I won’t live in a shell of a sham marriage.”

“And they’re okay with that?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “As long as I do nothing to disgrace the name, then they’ll turn a blind eye to any ‘discreet’ happiness I might find. Although, I’m sure they’ll keep badgering me. The subject will never be allowed to drop completely.”

“Sounds sad.”

“Oh … no, it’s really not. I have everything so much better than most people in the world, and I … I want to make a difference to people’s lives, so I’ll keep my side of the agreement not just for the sake of harmony, but because I think I could change things here. But I won’t marry merely to produce their heir.” His hand tightened around Atsumu’s. “You look so sad. It’s not down to you, please don’t assume any responsibility for my decisions, but … well … you being there—you being here right now—reminded me how hard it is to resist and I can’t risk making someone miserable.”

“It sucks that you have to resist,” Atsumu mumbled, and reached across, plucking a stray leaf from his hair.

“It is what it is,” Prince Shouyou replied, licking his lips. “And what it is at the moment, is that no one can see us under this tree, especially with Tanaka keeping guard.”

“Are you propositionin’ me, Shrimpo?”

He grinned. “Guess I am.”

It was different from the kiss in the alley, no spontaneity and no desperation, but the kiss of two people who wanted to be there, to share this most intimate of situations together and utterly without company. And when they broke apart, the Prince, with another soft smile cupped Atsumu’s face. “You’re so handsome, you know that.”

“I’ve never … I ain’t jus’ saying this cuz you’re a Prince, but … like, this is …” He screwed up his eyes, inwardly groaning at the cliché, but then they were clichés for a reason and the reason was that they got to the core of the dilemma. “Stuff of dreams,” he muttered and kissed Prince Shouyou’s palm. “I really don’t want t’ have to wake up.”

“Reality sucks,” the Prince agreed, but he was pulling away, and then dropped to the ground, brushing down his yukata. “I have to go. Tadashi can only stall them for so long.”

“I’ll leave,” Atsumu said, joining him.

“What will you do now? Do you have another story lined up?”

“Nothin’ yet. Kita-san wants me to take a break. I ain’t sure about that. I was taken off something else, so I’m killing time.”

“Ah …” He pursed his lips. “This something else, was it a story about Ittori-san?”

“Uh… might have been.”

The Prince’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. “What sort of story? Will you tell me?”

“If I do and it gets out, he could sue me for slander,” Atsumu replied, but he quirked the Prince a smile. “But I trust yer, Shrimpo, and maybe I should warn yer as you’re associatin’ with him. He’s corrupt. There was a charitable fund which has gone missin’ and he’s in the frame. Well, he’s in my frame, an’ I got evidence but it’s … uh … complicated.”

“Oh, I see.” He paused and let out a breath. “He denied ever visiting Brazil, you know. I asked him what he thought of the country but he says he’s never been. But I know what I saw.”

“When you hid?” Atsumu joked, but he was listening intently, the cogs in his mind already whirring

“I was up a tree,” Prince Shouyou confessed, “which I’m forbidden from climbing, but it was definitely him I saw letting himself into a house across the street from where I was staying. He … um … there was a lady, who … um … wasn’t his wife. I didn’t tell you before because his private life is not my concern, but public funds are. So … make of that what you will, Atsumu-san.” He blew him a last kiss then scurried back inside, the only evidence left he’d been here the orange blur of his hair and the tingling of Atsumu’s lips.

“Wow.”

The following day, Atsumu sauntered into the Herald offices, avoided Aran-san’s bootfaced glare and tapped on Kita’s door.

Suna was there, as Atsumu knew he would be, and in his hand was the envelope containing the details of Atsumu’s source.

“Good as it is to see you looking so refreshed, Atsumu,” Kita began. “We are discussing the Ittori story, which is no longer yours, so unless you’re going to be constructive ...”

“Uh … yeah … about that. I ....” He stopped talking, wondering if he’d said too much and should just walk out the door, or whether to take the other route.

Suna was watching him, no scorn, just interest. A new angle, Atsumu thought, had just presented itself, and while he could run with it himself, Suna was the best at exploiting any opening, however narrow.

“What?” Kita asked, his patience on a knife edge.

“Ittori’s been to Brazil,” Atsumu declared. “I have it on good authority that he was there, but he denies ever visitin’ the country. I was hopin’ you’d let me … I mean … Suna and me investigate.”

“Brazil?”

“Mmm. Could hide a large chunk o’ money there,” Atsumu taunted.

“Indeed.” Kita considered, his eyes focusing on the file in front of him. “Let me talk to Aran.”

Leaving the office, Atsumu sat at his desk, soon joined by Suna. “Why are you sharing this information with me?”

“Are you complainin’?”

“Just suspicious. Can you blame me?”

“Not really. Let’s just say I’m returnin’ the favour you did by lettin’ ‘Samu escape.”

“You already gave me your source.”

He slapped his head. “Dammit!”

“Jeez, Miya, are you saying you think we can work together?”

“Hell, no. Well, maybe on this. I want Ittori taken down, an’ if that means sharin’ the by-line with you, then … well … it’s a sacrifice, but I’m willin’ if you are.”

Suna laughed. “Guess I can share. Any other information?”

“I think he’s got a mistress out there,” he said idly. “Not sure if that’s any use at all… What are you thinkin’? You’ve got that intense look on your face again.”

“His sister-in-law might not be so loyal if she knew that about him,” Suna said slowly, and pressed his lips together. “It’s an angle!”

“Ahhh, nice! She might jus’ think her sister has a right to know.”

“Exactly! Will you tell me who your new source is?”

“A little bird who sits in trees,” Atsumu replied and laughed.

He leant back in his chair, closed his eyes and thought of the message he’d discovered in the pocket of his cherry red jacket, returned the previous evening along with his laptop. A folded piece of paper with a handwritten phone number and the instruction:

_‘Call me if you ever want to get stuck in a tree, Atsumu-san._

_Much love, Shrimpo xxx’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has honestly been a joy to write, and I've loved all the comments I've received too. 
> 
> Thank youuuuuuuuuu!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a twitter and I would link to it but I'm not clever enough, so I'm @SaekoKiller on there if you want to yell about this fic, or AtsuHina, Haikyuu or dogs, then come and find me.


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